


mr loverman

by mondostoupee



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: (i promise we'll get there but not without a fight), Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Recovered Memories, Regret, Reunions, hi this is me from march 10th, yes this fic will be done i swear i haven't forgotten about it on god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondostoupee/pseuds/mondostoupee
Summary: He doesn't want to die.-i tell you what happened after mondo killed chihiro.(5/6 written, 1/6 in progress, yes it's still in progress)
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo, Owada Daiya & Owada Mondo
Comments: 104
Kudos: 121





	1. the blackened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright kiddos this is a long ass fic and trust me you're not gonna want to pause unless you have to so get a glass of water, go pee, and settle in for some tears

**ACT I.**

* * *

He doesn’t want to die.

Which is funny, isn’t it? As the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, you’d think that Mondo Owada would be comfortable with the prospect of death. Maybe even well-acquainted with it. With all the joyrides he’s led and all the gunfights he’s survived--it’d be reasonable to have transformed into an adrenaline junkie, and as such, there would come a thrill in chasing death. Some would even consider it the highest honor.

And it’s true that Mondo is hardly the most thoughtful or cautious person you’ll ever meet. He has his own reckless streak, a trend that’s often become the root of his broken relationships. But when you’re in a gang, you don’t really  _ do _ relationships, not when the streets are so much louder. So he hasn’t found it in himself to really care. Plus, Mondo never considered himself a relationship kinda guy, and he thought he had pretty much convinced himself that because everything is so temporary, there is no point in pursuing the permanent.

That is, until recently. 

And now...he doesn’t want to die.

It’s a stupid thing to think when there’s a dead body lying in front of him. Still warm, still bleeding out. He doesn’t think anything at all at first--it’s all the epinephrine coursing through him, as thick as the blood clinging to Chihiro’s soft hair. Maybe that’s what gets him to stop breathing so hard, when he recognizes the boy’s face through the blurry shapes in his vision. Maybe that’s why he falls to his knees.

“No, no, no,” he mutters. His voice swells along with the panic in his chest. “No,  _ no, _ fuck! Chihiro!”

He’s torn between checking for a pulse and getting as far away from the body as possible. He already knows that a  _ body  _ is all it is--Chihiro slipped away as fast as Mondo had crushed his head in. And so he ends up following the latter instinct, scrambling against the lockers and shoving his hand into his mouth so he doesn’t scream.

“Fuck,” Mondo whispers again. All he can see is red.

_ He doesn’t want to die. _

He didn’t mean to do it. He really didn’t mean to. He wasn’t even thinking about fucking graduation, or what he could possibly gain from murdering his own friend. All he was thinking about was Daiya’s ghost, the presence that Mondo swears he can still feel curling around his dreams at night. It was all anger, a burning hatred, and now Mondo’s fighting back tears because oh  _ God, _ what was Chihiro thinking in his last moments? That Mondo hated him?

Mondo swallows a sob and buries his face in his hands. “I didn’t hate you,” he moans. “Fuck, it-- _ fuck! _ I didn’t hate you!”

He has half a mind to scramble over to the corpse and cry over it, just to prove that he never intended to hurt a boy like Chihiro. But he knows he can’t do that here. Fuck, if he’s discovered right now--

That wakes him right the hell up. He  _ can’t  _ be discovered. There’s no way. Because--

“ _ Goddammit! _ ”

Mondo’s a Blackened, now.

Is this how Leon felt, when he stood over Sayaka’s corpse in Makoto’s bathroom? Did he feel the same white-hot guilt searing into his throat, the grief piercing his heart? Did he want to cry, even though the tears refused to come? Most of all:  _ did he feel scared? _

Nausea roars in Mondo’s stomach. It carries him to his feet, where he sways and leans against the lockers, one hand pressed tightly over his mouth. He closes his eyes and tries to think about anything but the cloudy brown eyes frozen open on Chihiro’s dead face.  _ I have to move the body, _ he thinks numbly.  _ They can’t find him here. He--he wouldn’t want them to know. Not like this. _

In retrospect, there’s some redemptive value in Mondo’s noble first thought. Even more in how quickly he rouses himself from his temporary paralysis. He’s seen dead bodies before, and some of them even belonged to long-ago friends. But this is the first time he’s ever been directly responsible for the death of someone he knows--someone who  _ trusted  _ him.

“Enough, Owada,” he hisses to himself. There’s no use in thinking like that. He can cry about it when he’s safe in his room, away from the evidence.  _ The evidence _ \-- _! _

He knows Kyoko’s really damn good. And Makoto is sharp, even if all he does is ride that girl’s coattails. And Byakuya...Mondo’s lip curls at the thought of him. No, he didn’t intend to kill anyone from the beginning, but if he had to, he wished it had been the stupid progeny. He doubted anyone would want to look too hard at that bitch’s corpse.

But then he’s doused with a cold wave of terror at his own horrid wishes. How could he think that?  _ No one _ deserved to die here. “Except me.” A bitter laugh bursts from his chest. “Except, fucking, me.”

He finally begins to work as he ponders this. He takes off his coat and throws it over his workout bag--he makes a mental note to not forget to take it with him. Even if he moves Chihiro’s body, something as incremenating as his own clothes near the revised crime scene would be deadly. And yet, he remembers, someone’s going to die, either way. Either Mondo is executed...or the rest of the class is.

And that includes Kiyotaka Ishimaru.

The thought pulls him up short, and he freezes right as he suppresses his nausea and slips his hands under the corpse.  _ It’s Taka or me, _ Mondo realizes with horror. No, horror can’t begin to describe the surge of raw, absolute  _ anguish _ that chills his whole body. He wants to scream again. He wants to scream until his throat bloodies and his voice stops working. 

_ What the fuck have I done? _

_ It’s me, or everyone else. _

The answer should come easy. He should be quick to surrender his own life, because that’s the only correct answer. He owes it to Daiya. He owes it to Taka, the very one who warned them not to act hastily. He owes it to Chihiro. But now that he’s faced with nothing but the cold hard question...he can’t choose. Not after seeing the hell Monokuma put Leon through. Mondo’s body weakens at the memory. He really might throw up.

He doesn’t want to die.

It’s enough to pick him up again. He’s determined to at least make the trial fair. He’ll be damned if he won’t go down fighting. He picks Chihiro up with an ease that makes him sad all over again--the boy was so fragile, so small. All he wanted to do was what Mondo couldn’t. He just wanted to be stronger. 

The light weight makes it easy for Mondo to keep the blood from staining his shirt. It helps that it’s all matted in Chihiro’s long hair. But then he remembers that he has to actually open the girl’s locker room, so he deposits the body back on the floor and starts to move towards the door. He hesitates--what if someone finds Chihiro before he can even get back to it? Even though it’s so late...nobody should be up at this hour.

He glances at his stuff; after a second thought, he pulls the Crazy Diamonds jacket back over his shoulders and rushes out as fast as he can. He knows what he has to do: he knows that the discarded e-Handbooks are kept in a cabinet in the main hall--he had found it last night, when he had stolen Leon’s to replace his own. If he takes Sayaka’s or Junko’s, he can get into the girl’s room. Or, at least, that’s what he hopes--otherwise, he’ll be shredded by the machine gun in the ceiling.

Mondo considers this. Would that be so bad? It has to be better than...than…

He wants so badly to push the thought of his own execution from his mind. The guilt for Chihiro is bad enough; he can’t handle the knowledge that it was completely unnecessary to subject either himself or the rest of his classmates to a horrible death. It could have all been avoided if he had just...manned up and actually  _ thought _ for once. It was his own irrational aggression that landed him in this shit. What if he had just trained Chihiro tonight? What if he had just grown the fuck up and accepted what happened to Daiya all those years ago? What if he had just thrown the dumbbell across the room in his rage rather than turn it into a murder weapon? 

What if he had approached Taka earlier?

The dark, empty corridors of the school make it hauntingly easy to mull over useless  _ what-if’s. _ The feeble cries that Mondo cannot stifle echo softly off the tiles and walls. If he had just been more open to speaking to people...if he had tried talking to the one person who ended up making him feel more loved and accepted than anyone else in his life, sooner than yesterday...

Images flash before Mondo’s eyes. He begins to move faster, away from the memories, but they chase him around corners and pillars with no relent. He sees scarlet eyes; he sees a pale hand covering his own; he sees a body pulled against him in the bathhouse, a living,  _ breathing  _ body that smelled like sweat and lavender. Tears pour in earnest down his face, now, because he’s effectively ruined any chance to feel that kind of warmth again.

He’s a mess when he reaches the main hall. He’s crying into his sleeve and trying to wipe the tears and mucus away--he’s disgusting. An abomination. Daiya would be disappointed. Taka would be disappointed. More than that: they’d want nothing, ever, to do with him. 

That’s what will hurt most, Mondo decides as he stumbles over to the cabinet and pulls the first drawer open. The things that Taka will surely say to him when they inevitably find Mondo guilty. Or, worse yet, if Taka just starts screaming. He isn’t sure if Taka’s wrath or heartbreak would be harder to deal with. At least he won’t have much longer to marinate in that kind of dread.

He picks an e-Handbook out at random and turns it on to check the ownership. It’s Sayaka’s, and without another thought, he stuffs it into his pocket and tears back down the corridor. The fear of being noticed in the hallways is beginning to disappear. Nighttime really is the worst; he briefly wonders who could be stupid enough to kill during the day. But then again, killing at  _ all _ is a fool’s gambit. So he supposes he has no authority to condemn the ones who would murder in broad daylight. At least they would be acting with intent, rather than unchecked aggression.

Mondo returns to the workout rooms much sooner than he expects to. He doesn’t really want to open the boys' room door. The urge to just abandon the site and pretend it never happened is overwhelming. Of course, he can’t do that, so he scans his way in and forces himself to take in Chihiro’s body with his eyes. His skin already looks grayer, and the blood is drying against his scalp and hair.  _ Good, _ Mondo thinks, feeling a twisted sense of relief. It’s easier to deal with when he has undeniable proof that the boy is dead.

And it helps him carry out the rest of the required tasks in a cold silence. It’s a different kind of adrenaline, one that obscures despair rather than pain. His consciousness seems to retreat to the back of the mind and yield all actions to his automatic motor skills. It’s like watching himself from another body; it’s like he’s viewing a movie, where the murderous antagonist moves the victim into a different room and goes about hiding his steps. He watches himself pull out the rugs in both rooms and swap them, so that the girl’s rug has a bloodstain rather than one in the boy’s room. He watches himself pause before moving the posters, because even though it’ll be a little puzzling to see the picture of a female model in the girl’s room, it’ll be even worse to find blood in the boy’s room. So it must be done.

A shred of awareness reawakens him when Mondo stoops to pick up the bloody dumbbell. A vile taste fills his mouth. It takes every ounce of resignation in his body to grab the handle and haul it into the air. He knows instantly that for the remainder of his sorry life, he’ll remember the exact weight of it, and the exact amount of effort it took to raise it over his shoulder and strike.

The adrenaline ebbs away as Mondo returns to the girl’s room one last time to leave the weapon near Chihiro’s body. As if to make up for his aggression, he moves with utmost care as he rolls the dumbbell towards the lockers and reluctantly positions Chihiro in such a way that it would look like he simply crumbled to the ground and died right there. He lingers, though, and waits for the tears to return.

“I’m so sorry,” Mondo whispers. He brushes his fingers over Chihiro’s cheek.  _ He’s so cold. _ “I’m so--fucking--sorry! You didn’t...you didn’t deserve this, you were too fucking good for this world, you--you--” He pulls his arm back and falls back on his ass while he presses his face into the crook of his elbow. Strained sobs shudder through him. “You were already strong,” he cries, “so fucking strong. Stronger than me, stronger than anyone else at this stupid fucking school. I was the weak one--I was the one who should’ve died--!”

He hopes Chihiro can hear him. He wonders if all the stories about the afterlife are real--that people can return as ghosts to see their loved ones. Or, in Chihiro and Mondo’s case, their hated ones. He wonders if Chihiro is with Daiya right now, in this room, staring at this poor young man who can’t seem to do anything but hurt the ones he loves because he has no idea how to love himself.

“I should’ve died,” Mondo murmurs again. It’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

He almost takes off his jacket to lay it over Chihiro’s body, like he did with Sayaka, just to pay his remorseful respects. And, he has to admit, he’s feeling a little self destructive. It would be so easy to leave the most obvious hint in the world towards his identity. Then he remembers his previous conviction. He remembers he doesn’t want to die.

So he leaves Chihiro there a few minutes later, when the worst of the crying has passed. He stands and observes his handiwork. It feels like there are maggots crawling through his skin, moving towards his chest to breed in his heart. None of this is right. Half of him is sure that this is just a nightmare, and he’ll wake up any minute. But he’s already experienced more pain in this single half hour than he ever has in his whole life, and if that wasn’t enough to wake him up, then it must be real.

There’s one last thing he has to do, though. The only thing left to do for Chihiro. Mondo goes over to his bag and hefts it onto his shoulder, knowing that he can’t leave anything behind him. He makes his way to the door and pauses right before he leaves; over his shoulder, he says, “I know you’ll never forgive me. I--I hope it’s better. Wherever you are.”

He manages to free himself from that room, and he leans against the closed door with a long, trembling sigh. He glances over at the machine gun, poised directly at his face. Something like anger suddenly blazes over his skin. “Hey, asshole,” Mondo spits, glaring into the gun’s barrel. It stares menacingly back. “Monokuma. I know you’re fucking there. I know you’re watching this shit. Why don’t you gun me down right fucking now, huh? You don’t give a  _ shit  _ if I graduate. You just want to see us die. So--just fucking do it. Right now.”

He turns his whole body towards the gun and extends his arms like he’s being crucified. He holds his breath, closes his eyes. Braces himself. It seems reasonable, what he’s asking for, so he has no idea why the gun doesn’t whir to life. A cold sweat breaks out over his skin, and Mondo opens his eyes, suddenly pleading. “Please. Please just do it. I can’t--I can’t--not with them,  _ him _ \--Kiyotaka, or the trial, I--” 

His arms fall, and he sinks to his knees as a sorry excuse for a gang leader. “Don’t make me do it,” Mondo begs into his hands. “ _ Please. _ ”

The gun doesn’t answer.

“Don’t make Taka see me like this.”

It doesn’t even move.

“I love him.”

He can hear Monokuma cackling in the deepest recesses of this damned school.  **_Exactly_ ** _ , _ Mondo can picture him saying with glee.  **_That’s_ ** **exactly** **_why he gets to watch you die!_ **

No. 

He can’t give up like this. If Chihiro and Daiya had to die because of his weakness, he owes it to them to spend whatever hours he has left as the strongest man he could be. He owes it to Taka--if he really means it, what he just uttered, then he won’t surrender himself here. He’ll own his own actions in the trial, he’ll confess, he’ll do everything a man should do. He  _ must. _

Taka deserves it, at least.

Once again, Mondo rouses himself from the ground, and he picks both his and Chihiro’s bags up. He trudges slowly towards the staircase, with his mind fixed on his final destination: the sauna on the first floor. He will break Chihiro’s e-Handbook. He refuses to be responsible for leaking the boy’s secret.

He can smell the cleansing scent of the bathhouse even before he opens the door. It washes over him when he hurries in, and for a moment, he’s tempted to splash into the pool and scrub himself clean of every speck of blood that got onto his skin, and of every hair that sticks to his clothes. He looks over at the water as he passes by--for a split second, he sees two people in it. One looks like him. One looks like Taka. 

_ My God. _ How is it possible that just yesterday, before the damned assembly, he was so much happier?

He yearns to turn the clock back to that moment, right when Taka was running his hands through Mondo’s long hair. He would warn himself of the horrific crime he would commit twenty-eight hours later. He would beg himself to just  _ stop, _ stop and  _ think _ for a second, before he ruins everything. 

It would seem that in a school where every terrible thing is possible, a second chance is not.

He kicks the sauna door open, blinded by the mix of misery and fury churning inside of him. He fills the bucket with water from the bathing pool and throws it onto the coals (which always seem to be fresh and hot). Then he closes the door, pulls out the Handbook, and sits down as the sauna heats up. 

He isn’t sure why he stays. In fact, Mondo could just leave the tablet here and return to the night, because who cares if someone finds it here? Figuring out how it got into the sauna would provide no evidence at all; no one would be surprised that the killer tampered with the victim’s e-Handbook. And still, Mondo remains in his seat, even as the heat quickly climbs from uncomfortable to unbearable. 

What was it he had said to Taka? When he was here under better circumstances, with the prefect by his side?  _ I’ll push you right up to the gates of hell. _ How ironic. Because here Mondo is, one foot in the fucking grave, halfway to hell. Surely he won’t make it into heaven. So he might as well prepare himself for the heat, because, well, he said it himself. He deserves it.

He keeps the e-Handbook’s display on as an indicator of when he can leave. In the meantime, he subjects himself to this punishment, although it isn’t so much the heat as it is the memories that make it so painful. They haven’t even been in the Academy for that long, and already Mondo has created ghosts for himself. It might just be because all at once, Mondo’s time in this sorry world has been cut short, and he’s already in the process of watching his life flash before his eyes. 

He never understood that saying before now. But as the heat begins to muddle his brain, and he turns tiredly to his left, his distorting vision conjures up the image of a red-faced student. A familiar voice drifts through his brain.  _ “Why don’t you take off your uniform? Go ahead. I won’t judge.” _

“Taka,” mumbles Mondo. He reaches out weakly; when his hand touches nothing, he slaps the bench and falls forward. “Dammit. Dammit.” He clenches his teeth. His nails scrape at the damp wood. He’s beginning to shake again. “Goddammit!”

He isn’t even dead yet, and he’s already feeling cold. Which, in a sauna, is a sign that he’s quite near death; for the second time tonight, he debates killing himself. If he simply dozes off in all of his clothes, he has a pretty high chance of dying of heat stroke.  _ But then everyone else would definitely die, _ he realizes, _ because they’ll vote someone else other than me. _ And he’d like to think that Taka would just about pull his hair out crying if Mondo never properly said goodbye the way he wants to.

He’s kind of proud of this situation, in a way. He didn’t know it was possible to fuck something up this badly.

He winds up just stewing in his coat, sweating and shivering at the same time. He hardly feels the heat. He doesn’t notice how hard it’s getting to breathe. He stares up at the ceiling, watching it swim and blur and swirl above him, until he hears the smallest  _ crack. _

Startled, Mondo sits up and looks down at the e-Handbook. The display is split by lines of red and green and blue and white, and they flicker and grow in rapid motion until the screen finally goes black. A web of hair-thin cracks split across the edges of the tablet.

_ Perfect. _

He leaves the broken Handbook at last and abandons the sauna in a feverish state. He doesn’t stop trembling--in fact, it gets worse when he leaves the sweltering heat and enters the crisp chill out in the hallway. He pulls his jacket tightly around him, even though it can’t protect him from the internal turmoil. Somehow he gets his legs to move when the rest of him refuses to cooperate, and somehow he does not fall.

He didn’t imagine that being a murderer would feel like this. He expected the regret and self-hatred, yes, but not so much the intense ache to strip himself out of his own skin and flee from it. Nor did he expect the constant back and forth between condemnation and escape, confession and denial. It’s tearing him apart more than any punishment Monokuma could subject him to. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that he’s the most capable tool of his own undoing. 

In the rare moments he isn’t battling his own primal instincts, his mind defaults to Kiyotaka. The man with so much hidden hurt, a thing that Mondo only caught glimpses of last night. There’s a string between them, he can feel it; there’s a connection that somehow existed before they even met at the Academy. It’s linked between twin experiences. It’s the reason Mondo saw himself reflected in Taka’s beautiful eyes, like he was staring into an altered mirror.

What a shame he’ll never be able to figure out  _ why. _

He ends up in front of his room, and he sluggishly opens the door. He throws his stuff onto his bed and staggers over to his closet, where he haphazardly stashes Chihiro’s duffel bag. And just like that, it’s done--he’s done everything he has to do. A sense of confusion crashes over him: what now? What can he do besides wait for the verdict?

He decides he has to prepare himself. Come tomorrow morning, or whenever Chihiro’s body is discovered, all eyes will be cast with utmost suspicion upon each other. If he isn’t careful, he won’t even get the chance to defend himself. All it’ll take is one word, or a lack thereof, for him to be found guilty. He must figure out a way to erase his expression of any regret, any reflection, when all the others look at him. He thinks that he’ll be able to do it for everyone except for Taka, because--

Well. Taka’s the exception for a lot of things. Maybe...maybe Mondo should pay him a visit. Since after all...one of them will be dead by this time tomorrow.

Remembering that is a blow to Mondo’s gut. His knuckles turn white as his hands bundle into fists, so tightly that his nails threaten to break through the callouses hardening his palms. His gait becomes staggered, almost drunken.  _ I’ve killed them all, _ he thinks in a daze.  _ I’ve killed Taka. And me. I killed Taka, and me, and Chihiro, and Daiya, and-- _

“Taka.”

He turns the word over and over in his mouth, savoring the taste of it. He really does feel drunk. He mumbles Taka’s name as he exits his room in three huge strides. His heartbeat is a deafening orchestra, thundering through his head. He never liked white noise very much.

He’s in front of Taka’s door a moment after. Mondo stares at it like it’s his execution chamber.  _ Then why do I want to knock? _

His right hand responds to the thought and lifts, only stilling when it is a hair’s breadth away from the wood. Mondo gathers a breath in his lungs, holds it, and lets it out as slowly as he can. He knows what he’s about to do is dangerous--it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots between Mondo showing up at Taka’s room less than an hour after Chihiro’s recorded time of death. If Taka says even the most casual thing about Mondo visiting him within earshot of someone like Kyoko, Makoto, or Byakuya, then Mondo’s thoroughly fucked.

But that can’t possibly stop him, can it? Because whatever happens, this will be the last time Mondo can see Taka in private before one of them is executed. He’s made a fuck ton of shitty decisions throughout his life, and he cannot--will not--let his hesitation tonight be one of them.

He has to tell Taka he loves him. Before he loses the chance to.

With the words prepared in his mouth, Mondo swallows his nerves and raps three times. He isn’t surprised when there is no response; Taka must be fast asleep. Completely unaware of what’s to come.

He knocks again, harder this time. He’s just about to start straight up pounding on the door when he hears the faintest footsteps thumping towards him. He’d call to Taka and assure him that  _ it’s just Mondo, _ but he doesn’t want to risk waking anyone else up. Luckily, he doesn’t have to: there’s the sound of unlocking, and then the door creaks open.

Half of Taka’s groggy but nervous face appears in the crack. “What?” he mutters as he squints at his visitor. His eye suddenly widens as he realizes. “Mondo--”

Before his name is even fully out of Taka’s mouth, Mondo shoves himself through the door and throws his arms around Taka’s neck. The younger man is too tired, too startled to react, but Mondo doesn’t care. He just squeezes Taka tightly, stuffing his face into his neck, staggering as he knocks them both backwards. “Kyoudai,” he mumbles. “God. Taka.”

“Mondo, is--is everything alright?” There’s a slur at the beginning of Taka’s statement, but already it’s beginning to fade away as it’s replaced by alarm. Mondo feels Taka’s arms hesitantly circle around him and hug him back; it brings the most out-of-place smile to Mondo’s face. He tries to enjoy the feeling before it’s gone. “Answer me,” Taka whispers against Mondo’s shoulder.

Mondo nods in response to Taka's question. He inhales deeply. He wants to be drugged by Taka’s scent, the smell that reminds him of home. He holds Taka tighter and uses his foot to close the door behind him.

“Okay, then...why are you here? Are you--hurt?”

Mondo flinches and buries his face harder into Taka’s neck. He can tell by his own breathing that he’s on the verge of crying, but for Taka’s sake, he cannot. He can’t let the prefect know what he’s done. “I’m not hurt,” he lies. “I--I just wanted to see ya.”

Taka sounds bewildered. “See me? Kyoudai, it…” He yawns. “It’s almost 3 AM.”

“So fucking what?”

“I just don’t understand. I’m--I’m glad you’re here, though.”

Mondo doesn’t want to let go, but he wants to see Taka’s face. He pulls away, still keeping Taka close enough to touch, and stares at him through the dark. The crimson in Taka’s eyes glitters with concern. “Why are you so hot? And sweaty?” Taka asks quietly. “Did you visit the sauna?”

Mondo doesn’t answer. He drops his forehead onto Taka’s, and is met with a small gasp. “Lemme sleep with you. Please.”

“Kyoudai…” Taka’s hands cautiously slip up to cup Mondo’s face. He feels the prefect stiffen. “You’re crying.”

_ Fuck. _ Mondo hadn’t even noticed. He wants to deny it, but with Taka already anxiously wiping the tears from Mondo's face, there probably isn’t much he can say. So it’s time to come up with a lie. “I had a nightmare,” he blurts.

Taka pauses. And then he starts chuckling. Mondo feels like he should be offended, but laughter is the one noise he needs right now. “A nightmare? I didn’t think you had those.”

Mondo scowls. “Shut up, smartass. Can I sleep with ya or not?”

The smile that answers him makes Mondo forget everything he’s done tonight. It melts through the icy horror, it warms his bones, it fills him with  _ love _ until all the bad things have no more room to torture him. “Of course...but, are you sure?” Taka frets. “The bed is very small, I--I can take the floor, or--”

He stops talking because Mondo drags him into a kiss. There’s a little muffled sound of surprise, and then silence. Not that it matters to him. Mondo’s brows push together as he focuses on the beautiful feeling of their joined lips and the heat that passes between their parted mouths. He thinks about the way Taka sags into him and clutches weakly at his shoulders. He loses himself by pulling through Taka’s hair, gripping his hip to drag him closer, slipping his hand under Taka’s nightshirt and letting the heat of his body warm his own.

He thought it would make the tears stop. They actually flow faster, now, and soon enough, Mondo can taste them in their mouths. He tries to kiss Taka harder to ignore it, but Taka pushes him away with a gasp. “Kyoudai, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Fuckin’ nightmare. That’s  _ all _ .” Mondo kisses Taka again before the prefect can object. He embraces him while he does, and he wishes he could somehow fuse their bodies together. He can’t stand the thought of being apart from him. There’s so much he wishes he can do right now, so much he wishes he can touch and taste, but he only has the strength for this. It must suffice.

He isn’t sure who initiates the movement towards the bed first. Regardless, they end up on the mattress together, with Mondo on top and still attached to Taka at the mouth. Somewhere along the way, Taka had picked up on Mondo’s urgency, and they clutch at each other like neither of them can get close enough. It makes Mondo smile--Taka has never let him down. 

Finally they break apart again. They stay where they are, panting in the dark, eyes on each other. Taka touches Mondo’s face and whispers, “Where did this come from? I...I didn't think--I wasn't sure--”

“Who cares?” Mondo takes Taka’s hand and presses a fierce kiss between his knuckles; even without much light, he can see the blush that darkens Taka’s face. “I love you.”

The proclamation is short, but it is powerful. Normally Mondo would have thought twice about saying it so simply--he doesn’t have time, now, though. He feels a little bad when Taka’s eyes widen and blink at him. “You...you--” Taka’s mouth drops. “You love me. But--”

Mondo covers Taka’s mouth. “Please. I’m beggin’, Taka. Just--just let me say that. I  _ love _ you.”

“Okay.”

Mondo’s face burns.  _ Please say it back. Please. Please, Taka-- _

There’s a small intake of breath. And then, around Mondo’s fingers: “I love you too, Mondo.”

“Oh, thank God,” Mondo sighs, and he falls on top of Taka’s chest. Taka grunts but still holds him; like a mother embracing her child, he strokes Mondo’s head, and grips his waist tightly. Mondo doesn’t mind that he’s crying, now. At least he said it. And at least Taka said it back.

“I don’t understand,” Taka says softly. “You worry me, kyoudai…”

Mondo tries to force a laugh. Only a sob comes out. “I’ll be alright in the morning. Just hold me, Taka, okay?”

“Yes.” Taka’s arms fold around his back and neck. Mondo rolls onto his side so he can pull Taka in without crushing him. Taka’s face ends up against Mondo’s neck, so he feels it more than hears it when Taka murmurs, “This is all I’ve wanted.”

“Yeah?” Mondo chokes on the words. “M-me too.”

“I’m...glad.”

The grin that he feels against his skin makes Mondo shudder. “I love you,” he says for the third time. He finds Taka’s legs under the bed and slips them under his own, because he needs to touch as much of Taka as he can. That way, the demons won’t get to him tonight.

“I love you too, Mondo, why are you crying so much? Please don’t cry. Please--” Taka’s tone breaks Mondo’s fucking heart. Mondo looks down and Taka looks up; two pairs of eyes, broken for two different reasons, find each other.  _ We found each other. _

“Kyoudai,” Taka says shakily, sounding like he’s going to cry, too.  _ And he doesn’t even know why. _ “Don’t cry. I’m here.”

_ I’m here. _

Somehow, it hits Mondo harder than the  _ I love you too. _ He grits his teeth before another cry can jump forth. “I know,” he manages to say. “I--” It’s all for naught. He cries out and pulls Taka in, scrambling for the last good thing he has.  _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry-- _

“Oh my God. I’m here, Mondo. Please believe me.” A kiss tickles his collar.

Mondo hiccups and squeezes Taka with everything he’s got left. “Stay,” he begs.  _ Stay with me. Stay with me even if I can’t stay with you. _

“Of course. Of course I’ll stay. When you wake up, I’ll be here.”

_ I hope I don’t wake up. _

He wonders if Taka can feel the storm raging through him. The smaller man definitely feels something, judging by how tightly he holds onto Mondo. “I’m sorry,” Mondo says at last, unable to keep the apology inside of him.

“For what? I--I don’t mind that you’re here, even if it's late…”

Mondo shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not it.” In a stroke of weakness, he almost confesses to everything. It would make this infinitely easier...but it would make it infinitely harder, at the exact same time. So he catches himself at the last second, and as much as he wants to fix Taka’s helpless expression, all he says is, “I’m sorry for treating ya like shit.”

“No!” Taka exclaims. He pulls Mondo down into a kiss, and the biker gladly lets him. “No,” he says firmly, when they part, “you didn’t. You just--we were strangers. That’s all. I don’t hold it against you.”

“I’m glad.”

As they fall into a silence, Mondo frantically wracks his brain. He can’t let Taka fall asleep--there has to be something left to say-- _ anything, _ anything at all. Anything before this night ends. “Taka,” he says to stall.

“Mhm?” 

“You--you’re beautiful, okay? Really fucking beautiful, and strong, and--” Mondo’s breath hitches-- “the only one who cares. Don’t...don’t let anyone say otherwise. Okay?”

“You sound like you’re saying goodbye.” Taka’s tone is light, but there’s an unmistakable thread of real nervousness under it. It’s Mondo’s signal to lay off.

He’s able to laugh this time. He has to keep Taka content. “No--no, of course not. I just felt like I should tell ya.”

Taka pauses. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Th-thank you, kyoudai. I’m glad you...came to me tonight.”

“Yeah.” Mondo tugs at Taka’s head until he’s fit snugly under his chin. He tries to mimic Taka’s steady heartbeat and even breathing. How wonderful this man is. How peaceful. He is every good thing Mondo is not. Mondo is sure that in another life, where the both of them are free to live happily together, he is a better man. A stronger man. But in this one, the best he can be is a broken man tangled in the arms and legs of the one who made him whole, if just for a day.

He kisses Taka’s forehead. “There’s no one else I coulda gone to,” he breathes.

Taka doesn’t respond. He’s fallen asleep.

It leaves Mondo free to truly soak in his kyoudai’s presence, now that he isn’t worried about maintaining his trust. He doesn’t move too much, so as to not wake Taka, but he does slowly drag his hands up and down Taka’s back. He wants to remember how every inch of Taka’s body feels against his own. He wants his last thought to be the memory of Taka’s small breathing, whistling against his skin, and of the sensation of his chest moving up and down against Mondo’s. He wants to be able to fabricate this feeling of safety, and security, when all that’s waiting for him is a hellish nothingness.

He’s afraid that he’ll disturb Taka with his crying that has yet to cease. A part of him wishes Taka had stayed up with him until it stopped, but he’s mostly glad that Taka is at rest. He’d hate to bother him. Fortunately, the prefect has slipped into a true slumber--something Mondo has no idea how he’ll find tonight.

“I love you,” he says into the quiet. He’s never said it so many times. “I love you.” Taka had said it back, but would his answer still be the same if he knew what Mondo did? If he knew that Chihiro was dead? If he knew that the man in his bed was a murderer?

Mondo discovers he doesn’t really care.

Sleep does not come easily, but at some point, it claims him before he’s done memorizing the man in his arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was i right?


	2. the trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up :)

**ACT II.**

* * *

As it turns out, Mondo doesn’t even have a moment to relax the next day.

They’re literally woken up by that fucking bear. All it takes is one “ ** _Gooooood morning!”_** before both men jerk out of their sleep with the same terrified shouts. It isn’t until Monokuma looks both of them up and down with a wicked **_upupupu_** that Mondo realizes he’s got Taka in a death grip. He lets go of him, but his eyes are stuck on Monokuma. “What the fuck are ya doing here?” he growls. Fresh panic gnaws at his ribs.

“ **Well, I could ask you the same thing, Mondo Owada!** ” Monokuma says cheerfully. His head swivels to stare Taka down. “ **Interesting that you would let** **_him_ ** **sleep in your room, Ultimate Moral Compass! Care to indulge me in what sinful things must have led to this setup?”**

Mondo’s heart stops. His body freezes over as Monokuma looks at him; even though the bear’s face is mostly stuck in one expression, he can tell that there’s something sinister crossing his features. “ **Of course, I already know,”** Monokuma adds, “ **but I’d love to hear a second account.”**

 _You fucking bitch,_ Mondo screams silently. If it weren’t for Taka’s hand gripping his arm, he would lunge at the bear and rip his head off. He's already as good as dead, so why not? _You were there last night. You saw me. You could’ve killed me when I asked you and you just_ watched.

“Back off, Monokuma,” Taka says. He sounds bolder than usual. “Mondo simply had a nightmare and came to me for...comfort.”

“ **Is that what he told you! How lovely! It’s always wonderful to see two students get along so splendidly.”** Monokuma’s grin is revolting. “ **Especially after what happened to one of your little pals last night.”**

The blood drains out of Mondo’s face in a mass exodus, leaving him light-headed and too stunned to say anything. Taka glances at him, and then back at Monokuma. “What are you saying?” he gasps. The horror in his voice tightens the noose around Mondo’s neck.

“ **What do you** **_think_ ** **I’m saying?”** Monokuma complains. “ **Use that straight-A noggin of yours! We have a crime on our hands! So up, up, up! It’s time for a be-e-e-autiful day!”**

Just like that, Monokuma seems to disappear into thin air--but not without a knowing look that’s thrown right into Mondo’s lap. He isn’t even given time to swear at the bear. Even if he had the chance, though, his throat is too dry to even form words.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Mondo,” Taka says quietly. Mondo barely stirs. Not even when a hand slides over his thigh. “Mondo, we--we need to go! Someone--”

“Go without me.”

Taka draws back in surprise. “What? But, kyoudai--”

“Go without me,” Mondo grits out. There’s no way he can be there when Taka, let alone everyone else, finds Chihiro’s body.

“Are you sure? You were--you were really shaken last night, and I would think that now more than ever you’d want company…”

Mondo has to fight back the instinct to snap at him. He doesn’t want Taka’s last memories of him being tainted by his anger. So he releases his frustration in a hot exhale and reaches up for him, trying to plead with his eyes. “Taka,” he says quietly, “go see what happened. I just...need to prepare myself for that shit, y’know? Like ya said...I was shaken. I don’t think--ya know…”

Taka begins to nod slowly. _He believes me._ “You don’t think you can handle seeing what happened,” he finishes for him. He holds Mondo’s hands tightly and tries to get him to smile back. “Well, that’s fine! I...I will go look, and--just wait here, alright? I’ll come get you.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You do that.” And then, after a moment: “Thanks.” Before Taka can pull away, Mondo catches his chin and pulls him in for a quick kiss. Partially to feel Taka like that before it’s all over, and partially to give his knees a reason to stop shaking.

It’s over too soon. He tries to enjoy the blush under Taka’s eyes, now that Mondo can actually see him. “Get outta here,” he says as brightly as he can.

Taka grins, though it doesn’t get rid of the concern hanging under his eyes. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.” He turns to leave, and Mondo settles back into his tense position. He thinks Taka has exited, so he is surprised when he hears: “Oh, Mondo…”

Mondo looks up sharply. “Yeah?”

“I...love you.”

He stiffens. “I love you too,” he breathes. “Be careful.” 

Taka’s smile widens, and then he’s gone.

The moment the door closes, the floodgates release. It starts in Mondo’s chest, and then spreads to his legs and arms, and then finally manifests in his face. He tries to fight it. It doesn’t work. 

He wails, long and hard. He’s sure that he has never wept like this, ever; even when Daiya died, he sucked it up for his gang. That could be why it feels like his body is being mangled from the inside out--it could be that he’s not only despairing for himself, or for Taka, but also for everything else he’s forced himself to endure without another shoulder to cry on. He snags one of Taka’s pillows, figuring that if Taka’s the one who survives and comes back to his bedroom at the end of this day, it won’t matter that Mondo got it all dirty. So he has no qualms about sobbing into it and squeezing it like he’s trying to choke the life out of it. Which he’s pretty good at, now, being a killer and all.

He wants to wound himself deeply, so that he'll never be able to hurt anyone again. He’s a _murderer,_ a Blackened. The very thing he swore he’d never become, especially after seeing Sayaka’s mutilated body in a pool of her own blood.

After about ten minutes of this, Mondo realizes he should probably start cleaning up. It would do no good for Taka to return and see him blubbering all over his mattress. He told himself that he would walk proudly to the slaughter; as much as it physically pains him to acknowledge it, the time for that has come. 

There’s a burst of static, followed by the chiming Mondo has come to loathe more than anything else. Monokuma’s voice over the loudspeaker affirms the truth that Mondo is trying to accept. **“A body has been discovered! After a certain amount of time, which you may use however you like, the class trial will begin!”**

The announcement cuts off along with Mondo’s sense of feeling. He stares down at his hands, the ones that refuse to stop shaking. “Get it together, dammit,” he hisses. A tear splashes onto his palm. “C’mon--!”

He wills himself to stand. Then he wills himself to put one foot in front of the other, a step at a time, all the way to Taka’s bathroom. It takes so much strength that when he reaches the sink, he collapses onto his hands. He claws at the granite, doing all he can to control the violent shivers clenching at his muscles. He turns the faucet on and lets the cold water run over his hands before he splashes it over his face, over and over and over again until he’s panting. “Fuck it, Owada, let’s _go!_ ”

He looks up at his reflection. He doesn’t recognize the man who stares back at him. The wild look in that man’s eyes is terrifying; there’s no way it could belong to him. There are bags under his eyes, and a red nose glistens above swollen lips. He breathes hard, wondering if he will shatter before the ghoul does. 

“I promise you,” Mondo growls at the mirror, “I won’t let you live. Not like this. Not anymore. _You_ killed Chihiro. It’s _your_ fault.”

He suddenly gets dizzy, and he has to close his eyes to steady himself. When he looks back up, he has to swallow a cry.

Daiya’s looking right back at him. 

“No, no, no, no, _no,_ ” Mondo chokes out. “No! Get the fuck out of here!” He reaches blindly for the towel hanging near the door and uses it to cover his face. He stays there, hiding from the apparition, and does not come out until his pulse lessens from _Dying-of-a-heart-attack_ to _I-was-briefly-startled._ He peeks one eye out from the fabric: Daiya is gone, replaced by the simple image of a cowering biker.

He releases a nervous breath. It occurs to him how much his past self would despise him now--who could respect a cold-blooded murderer who hides in the bathroom when their time comes? _No one,_ he thinks fiercely. _So get your stupid ass out of here, goddammit, and face the fuckin’ music._

From here on out, starting at this exact moment, Mondo vows that he won’t cower anymore. He can’t keep fearing the end. It’s his duty to look it in the eyes...and laugh.

He has just finished dousing his face in cold water and soothed the angry red in his skin, when he hears the bedroom door open. Mondo swallows hard and casts his eyes up to the heavens; he listens to Taka stumble in. The prefect sounds greatly distressed, and Mondo knows without a doubt in his mind that he has seen Chihiro’s body. Which means he's now become responsible for Taka's grief. 

_I’m sorry._

“Mondo!” Taka gasps. He appears in the bathroom doorway; Mondo slowly turns to face him. His face is pale, and his eyes are almost as stricken as the biker's. 

Mondo doesn’t have to pretend to be shocked at his appearance. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Talk to me.”

Taka falls upon him, and for the first time, Mondo does not instantly move to catch him. He just listens in a grim silence as Taka stares up at him and cries, “It’s--it’s Chihiro--she’s...d-d--” 

“Chihiro?” Mondo whispers.

“She’s dead.” Taka clutches at his collar and hiccups, “We--we found her in the l-locker room...she’s strung up--it’s _awful,_ kyoudai--!”

... _What?_

Now this gets a genuine reaction. Mondo catches his breath and pushes Taka back by the shoulders. “ _Strung up?_ ”

Taka nods and sniffs. His hands run over Mondo’s arms like he’s trying to calm himself.

Mondo stares past Taka’s head. He didn’t expect that. He definitely didn’t do that, which means... _someone tampered with the body._

He meets Taka’s eyes again before he can panic. “Okay. We gotta go.”

They leave in a rush. The whole time, Mondo doesn't speak, because the reality of everything is sinking in. So is the confusion about what Taka said--about Chihiro being strung up. _Who the fuck…_

It’s useless to think about. He keeps his eyes on the fingers wrung around his wrist, pulling him through the halls. Eventually, he slips the rest of his hand into Taka's palm. He does this so he can think about the heat rather than the fact that they’re coming up on the girl’s workout room, and--oh, fuck. Fuck. He isn’t ready to see it again. 

As it turns out, Chihiro’s new state of being is a blessing in disguise, because when Taka pulls Mondo through the door, the surprise and horror that pushes through his alarmed gasp is legitimate. The boy is supposed to be on the ground, not--not--crudely strung up by the wrists between two chin-up bars like a fucking slab of meat. The wall behind him is not supposed to be smeared with Chihiro’s blood, spelling out one word: **BLOODLUST.**

Mondo’s acutely aware of his own labored breathing. He reaches out for Taka before he knows what he’s doing. _What sick bastard did this?_ he thinks dimly. Out loud, he whispers, “What the fuck is this?” It isn’t like the secondary culprit will graduate with him for their efforts. If anything, all they did was make Mondo’s job easier, now that all the evidence is screwed up.

He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

Taka is completely unaware of the struggle going on in Mondo’s head. How could he be, when he’s busy with his own anguish rocking in his chest? Mondo takes note of this and feels a pang--a jolt--of harsh regret. If he had known that a single rash decision could so deeply hurt so many people...he couldn’t say for sure if it would’ve made him wiser in that moment. But if he had thought of Taka, he knows he would’ve at least paused when he should’ve.

The two men huddle together in their unique states of grief, apart from the crowd that forms when everyone arrives. Makoto and Byakuya were the first ones here, and Sakura and Hina arrived shortly before Taka and Mondo; it isn’t long before Celeste dances in, with Hifumi on her heels. Finally, Kyoko files in on her own, a few moments after Yasuhiro stumbles in with a stupefied _What the heck?_

With each new body that fills the room, Mondo sweats a little harder. He’s probably cutting off the blood flow to Taka’s hand, with how hard he’s squeezing it to focus. 

Taka glances up at him as he thinks this. “Mondo--”

“‘M sorry,” Mondo mutters, before anyone can hear them. “Just on edge.”

Taka doesn’t question him. He has no reason to, anyway. But Mondo can’t help but look nervously at him--he knows Taka isn’t stupid. There’s a good chance that he’s at least entertained the idea that there was something more behind Mondo’s rigid posture. He knows that Taka wouldn’t bring it up, though. The guy’s probably afraid of being correct.

Of course, Kyoko is the one who takes charge. She starts by stating the obvious, saying something about the huge word **BLOODLUST** scrawled behind Chihiro’s body. Mondo’s mildly surprised when Taka jumps in and volunteers his own ideas--what’s all this shit about Genocide Jack? He has no idea who the fuck that is. No, all he’s doing is staring at the corpse. As if it’ll disappear if he looks hard enough. 

He has to let go of Taka’s hand. He’s scared that the guilt inside of him will become strong enough to somehow leak into Taka’s veins through the contact, and the prefect will know exactly what went down. Well, he’ll at least know that Mondo’s the Blackened. Whatever this crucifixion business is, Mondo’s just as in the dark as everyone else.

He holds himself tightly to mimic Taka’s warmth. He refuses to enter the conversation about serial killers--not only because he’s got no opinion on it whatsoever, but he’s also sure that if he opens his mouth, all he’ll do is put his foot in it. Either that, or he’ll throw up. He’s been on the verge of it since last night, and it’s a wonder it hasn’t come out yet.

It’s only after Toko--who had apparently arrived at some point on her own--inevitably faints, that Mondo is pushed to intervene. It happens when Hina asks Taka to take the dazed girl back to her room. The sound of Taka’s name in somebody else’s mouth spurs Mondo to action, and all at once, he pales at the idea of the man leaving his side. “Wait,” he says as Taka automatically moves to help the swimmer. And then, louder: “Wait--”

“I assume no one has a problem leaving Sakura and Mondo on guard duty again?”

Now Mondo’s attention swings to Byakuya. He’s careful not to look too disturbed, but the bile is piling up in his throat and he’s really thinking about rushing to the bathroom. There’s no way, no _way_ he can stay in here--especially not with only Sakura, who has proved to be dangerously perceptive, to keep him company. No, what he needs is to _throw up._ He almost accuses Byakuya of knowing something no one else does, because why else would he feel the need to force Mondo into a premature punishment like this?

 _Calm down,_ Mondo screams at himself. Byakuya’s words mean nothing. The progeny doesn’t know anything. Mondo’s already overreacted once, and he can’t afford to do it again.

And so he’s forced to move near the bars, away from Taka, away from his life line. He pays no attention when Monokuma appears and wiggles his stupid furry ass all around the crime scene. He accepts his Monokuma File wordlessly, and though he wants to look up at the bear, just to see if there’s any gloating familiarity on his face, Mondo keeps his eyes on the ground.

But Byakuya always has a way of bringing out the worst in him. His ears tune to the frequency of the man’s voice on their own, and he hears Byakuya say to Hiro, “Just accept it already. After all, blood is just a liquid. A dead body is a simple object.”

Everything goes silent in Mondo’s head. It’s as fuzzy and empty as it was last night, in the moments before he killed Chihiro. It’s strange how protective he suddenly feels over the dead boy, as if he is the only one in the world allowed to hurt him. And here Byakuya is, implying the most horrendous things about Chihiro’s value, clearly caring less about the surrendered life than anyone else in the room. The rage is back, and without fail, it always boils over. His reaction is delayed, as his mind takes a minute to temper the anger, but it comes out soon enough.

“A dead body...is an object to you?”

Every eye in the room turns to Mondo as he takes one heavy step towards Byakuya. He can feel his face twitching with fury; his hands flex at his sides. “Chihiro wasn’t an _object,_ ” he roars. “Show a little fuckin’ respect or I’ll _beat_ some into ya!”

He wants to rip those stupid green eyes right out of Byakuya’s sockets, just so they’d stop staring at him with that disgusting air of superiority. And he might have done it if Kyoko didn’t interrupt him. All he can do is resign himself to burning through the ice that Byakuya regards him with. In some ways, the anger is refreshing. He much prefers it to all-consuming dread. 

His anger peaks again when Byakuya and Celeste debate the possibility of someone else dying during the investigation. It’s because of how casual and unbothered the progeny sounds as he sighs, “We need to uncover the culprit before something else happens.”

“You,” Mondo snaps, “need to shut the fuck up.” _Or else I swear to God I’ll prove you right. I will kill you. Happily._

Byakuya’s face is a mask. Mondo hates it. He hates it so much he actually visualizes what it would look like if there was a dumbbell sticking out of it. 

Oh, excellent. He’s already resorted to comforting himself with images of death.

Reprieve comes when everyone finally starts leaving the room. Mondo only watches long enough for Taka to disappear, and he only dares relax when Byakuya and Makoto--the most unlikely duo of all--leave the room murmuring to each other. And then he’s left with Sakura, who seems even less inclined to talk than he is.

He glances at her, muttering something like “I’m gonna sit down,” before he does just that. His back hits the wall opposite the entrance and he sinks down until his ass hits the floor. He discreetly wipes at his face-- _Jesus Christ._ He’s soaked with sweat.

He looks over at Sakura again. She’s studying Chihiro’s body, but as Mondo watches, she shudders and looks away. She notices him staring. “What do you think?” she asks him. Her tone is unreadable.

“What do I _think?_ ” Mondo isn’t prepared for the inquiry. He doesn’t trust himself to answer until he remembers that he’s just as appalled as the rest of them. Just because he killed Chihiro doesn’t mean he’s some gleeful, sadistic bitch like Monokuma. Maybe he can use this opportunity to vent without giving himself away. But of course, he has to reserve himself, or else he risks sounding like a man giving confession in a court.

“It’s a fucking tragedy, is what I think. She didn’t deserve to die, especially not like--like that,” he says at last, gesturing at Chihiro. He swallows. “She just...wanted to become strong, I think. I’m sure that’s why she was here, right? And whoever--whoever the fuck killed her, they…” A lump sticks in his throat. “Well, they were probably just a fuckin’ coward.”

His answer seems to satisfy Sakura. The woman relieves him of her stare, and she joins Mondo in a seated position across the room. “I agree,” she says. “Chihiro also mentioned to Asahina and I about this desire to become strong. We invited her to train with us on many occasions, but for some reason, she always declined.” Her brow creases, and she meets Mondo’s eyes curiously. “I wonder what caused her to come here all on her own.”

Mondo pretends like he’s fixing his hair to give himself an excuse to look away from Sakura. “That’s a good question. I--I don’t know.”

“It’s...a shame that it ended like this.” Her words are simple, distastefully so, but the sad tone of her voice indicates that she means more than just that. It isn’t like Mondo’s gonna scold her, anyway. He’s nowhere near better than her.

He just nods. That’s the last exchange they have. During the entire time between then and the trial, Mondo doesn’t move from against the wall. It isn’t hard to entertain himself--his mind returns to the same state it was last night. Jumping between Chihiro, Daiya, and Taka. He tries to avoid the idea of execution, because with Sakura in the room, any dramatic change in his physical behavior would summon unwanted attention. He considers visiting the restroom, but he’s suspicious enough as it is. So he’s stuck.

He turns his thumbs in his lap, mimicking the agonizing cycle flipping through his head. There’s such a wild disconnect between his mind and his body right now. It feels like the room is too small, with far too little air for Mondo to choke on. He wants to be free, really _free--_ he wants to feel the wind in his hair again. His thoughts snag on the sharp smell of gasoline and burnt rubber on asphalt, and for just a second, it tickles Mondo’s nose. 

_I don’t want to die._

He can’t do this.

An excruciating half hour passes. Surprisingly, not many people return to the room. Yasuhiro comes in at one point, but Mondo has just lifted his face out of his arms when the fortuneteller turns on his heel and hurries right back out. He fully expected Kyoko or Makoto to come in and question him...but they never do.

 _What if they already know?_ Mondo’s stomach churns. There’s no way Makoto has already put the pieces together. Kyoko, on the other hand, has a disturbingly clever wit. What if she took one look at him earlier, saw the shame written all over his face, and just...knew?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, an angel soon comes to pull Mondo from his thoughts. It’s Taka, still a little green around the gills. Mondo’s swaddled tightly in his jacket, but as soon as he hears Taka say his name, he’s on his feet. “Yeah?” he says nervously. “Is--is the investigation over?”

Taka shakes his head. He glances over at Sakura, and after seemingly confirming her as an ally, he hurries over and finds Mondo’s hands. The biker doesn’t immediately return the gesture. “No. Not yet. But--but I didn’t want to be alone,” Taka mumbles.

 _You came to the wrong person,_ Mondo wants to laugh. Still, his affection for Taka wins, even in the midst of all the despair. “I get it,” he replies, threading their fingers together. “Uh, Sakura--”

“Go ahead.”

Mondo flinches in surprise. _How--_ “Are ya sure?”

“I don’t mind. It doesn’t seem like anyone will be returning anytime soon. And if they do, don’t worry; I know you’re with Kiyotaka.” Sakura’s gentle words calm Mondo’s heart for a blessed moment. She must be aware of more than she’s letting on. But for whatever reason, she’s choosing...grace.

“Alright,” Mondo says. He meets her eyes for just an instant. “Thanks.”

“Of course. But be cautious, both of you. I imagine the trial will start soon.”

“Thank you, Sakura. We will,” Taka promises her. He’s got one hand on the small of Mondo’s back to guide him out of the room, as if he’s finally recognized how much Mondo needs the aid.

He doesn’t know where Taka’s taking them. They walk in a tense quiet--at least, that’s probably what Taka hears. For Mondo, every step is thunder. “Kyoudai, where are we goin’?” he eventually has to ask.

Taka’s eyes are set unwaveringly on the ground ahead of them. He frightens Mondo when he doesn’t respond. 

“ _Taka._ ”

A small sound jumps from Taka’s thoat. “Library,” he says.

“You, uh...ya think there’s clues in there or somethin’? Byakuya might--”

“I just want to sit down.”

The fragility of Taka’s voice sends Mondo into a silent panic. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ He must’ve found something. He has to know.

**“Hey there, lovebirds! Now where are the two of you getting off to?”**

Both of them pull to an abrupt stop. Mondo’s body jerks at the sound of Monokuma’s voice. When it becomes clear Taka will not answer, he reluctantly snaps, “We’re checkin’ the library, so get off our dicks, you son of a bitch. Leave us alone.”

 **“I believe good ol’ Byakuya is in there with Mr. Naegi right now,”** Monokuma muses, tapping his face with a paw. **“So no need! And in any case, the trial is about to begin. I’m just on my way to make the announcement. I recommend the both of you hurry on down to the elevator!”** He laughs into his paws and shivers with a vulgar excitement. **“This is about to be** **_ve-e-e-ry_ ** **interesting!”**

The bear scampers off as quickly as he came, leaving Mondo glued to the ground in a ghastly state. _It’s time,_ he thinks. The air rattles in his lungs. _It’s time._

Taka pulls at him, but Mondo doesn’t budge. “C-C’mon, kyoudai…”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Mondo’s jaw locks. “We gotta go.”

“No, we still have a few--”

“Taka…”

“--minutes to wait! We don’t need to go just because Monokuma says so!”

“Yes,” Mondo insists, snatching his arm away from Taka, “we do. He’ll probably kill us or somethin’.”

He can’t make much out of Taka’s strained expression. If anyone here should be trying to get out of the class trial, it should be Mondo, not Taka. Yet here they stand, with Taka pinching a piece of Mondo’s jacket between his fingers like a safety blanket. “Why do you want to go so bad?” Taka whispers.

“Why _don’t_ you want to go so bad?” Mondo counters. “Ya weren’t like this during the first trial.”

Taka bites his lip. He won’t meet Mondo’s eyes. He’s wrinkling the fabric in his hands, but Mondo cares less about the state of his jacket and more about how much Taka looks like he's about to faint. Mondo’s mouth opens, and he knows he should be trying to comfort him. But he can tell that Taka is about to say something, or many somethings. He has close to no doubt that one of those somethings is _I know you killed Chihiro._

He has to be sure, though. “Do you know?” he says in a low tone. One of his hands wanders to the collar of Taka’s shirt.

Taka’s lips become a thin line on his face. When he finally returns Mondo’s gaze, his eyes don’t seem like his own. And for some reason he still does not provide a straight answer: “Know? Know what?”

Mondo kind of wants to slap him. “You’re just--acting so strangely. So…did ya figure out who the killer is?”

The electricity that crackles between them is so thick that Mondo can physically feel it coursing through their bodies in a dangerous circuit. As much as it hurts him, he cannot tear his eyes away from Taka’s--they’re so big, and red, and scared. They shine with tears, and when one droplet falls onto the back of Mondo’s hand, it burns like acid.

He doesn’t know which one of them will break first. They face each other, breathing harder and harder because the heat of their bodies is sucking all the oxygen out of the room. “I don’t know,” Taka says tightly. 

The corners of Mondo’s lips twitch into a dry smile. “I kinda don’t believe ya.”

Taka inhales and closes his eyes. It’s almost like he’s mouthing a prayer. “I just wanted to say,” he says hesitantly, “that--that if, if we die, and--if this is where it ends--”

“Stop.”

“Just, please, please know--”

“ _S_ _top,_ dammit,” Mondo begs. He seizes Taka’s shirt and yanks him in close. “ _Stop it!_ ”

“I love you. I do.”

He draws in a short breath when Taka clings to him in the saddest bear hug he’s ever felt. “I love you too, kyoudai,” Mondo whispers. Now he’s the one letting the other tremble against him; now he’s the one trying to keep the other from crying. It would seem as though he has finally become numb. It rings in his final words, too, the lies that fall from his mouth without conviction. “We’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

He would throw in an _I promise,_ but he’s already broken too many of those.

They only part when Monokuma’s voice booms from the loudspeakers. **“I’m getting** **_re-e-eal_ ** **tired of waiting. Shall we just plunge right in? It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the class trial!”**

Mondo shudders and holds Taka’s hands to steady himself. “It’s okay,” he says again. He’s trying to convince himself, this time, not his kyoudai.

 **“You remember where to meet, right? The big ol’ red door on the first floor of the school!** **_Upupupupu--_ ** **see you soon!”**

The broadcast ends. Mondo releases Taka, knowing that he needs to distance himself before he can break the prefect’s heart anymore than he already has. He sniffs and says, “Let’s go, Taka.”

“Yeah.”

They do not hold each other when they make their way towards that stupid elevator. As much as he itches to touch Taka, something keeps his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. This is his death march, and his alone. His throat burns, but he does not cry. There’s no more tears left. He can’t bring Taka down to his grave along with him.

He doesn’t want to die. Yet he must go bravely.

He _must._

Mondo’s mind dims as soon as they’re united with the group. The last helpful thing he does is point out that Toko isn’t with them yet. He thought he would be terrified of the ride down, but now, all he feels is an overwhelming anxiety to just get it over with. Every extra moment that Monokuma takes to fetch Toko is another inch of his heart squeezed by that cold, sharp-nailed hand in his chest. But finally, the bear returns with her, and they all march through the doors.

He leans heavily against the wall of the elevator with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He lets his hair fall over his eyes; he doesn’t need anyone trying to mentally pick him apart right now. And anyway, he can already tell that these elevator rides will always be grossly silent. Of course...regardless of the outcome, this will be the last time he has to experience it.

His body shakes along with the elevator’s descent. Then, much too soon, there is a definitive _thud_ as it comes to a stop. The breath Mondo takes hardly fills his lungs. _Here we go._

He mumbles _sorry_ to Hina and Makoto as he quickly side-steps past them to reach Taka. As the doors grind open, he stands close enough for their arms to brush together. He wishes he could say something, but he's afraid of alerting the other students. Only one person here should be fearful for their life, and right now, Mondo's job is making sure that nobody puzzles out that it's him.

Fingers touch his hand. Mondo turns his head just barely, not quite looking straight at the prefect. He can hear what Taka’s silently telling him--it’s exactly what he had said, back up there near the library.

_It’s okay._

He latches onto that thought. It will be okay. It will be okay.

Being separated from Taka to stand at his assigned court seat is the worst part of it. He’s glad that the young man is almost directly across from him--except, that means that Taka will have the best view of whatever haunts his expression. He can’t really afford to be picky, though, so it’ll have to do.

He squeezes the wooden bar in front of him as Monokuma opens the trial. His palms almost slip right off of it, he’s so fucking sweaty. _Get a fucking grip,_ he thinks, but it doesn’t have much effect. Leon’s the only other one who would know just how crushing it is to be the culprit. Mondo alone must bear the knowledge that, in the end, he is the one who decides who lives and dies here. He is the one who will either throw someone else under the bus, or surrender himself.

At least...that’s what he thinks. 

It turns out he’s wrong.

In fact, it is Byakuya Togami himself who introduces a very strange idea. It is Byakuya who seizes the reigns of the discussion, and it is Byakuya who starts describing his absurd theory about Genocide Jack.

Mondo has to fight to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. At first it’s because of the sheer stupidity of what Byakuya is suggesting: that there is a serial killer among them running loose. Judging by everyone else’s skeptical faces, he isn’t the only one who’s finding the progeny quite laughable. But as Byakuya goes on in shocking detail, comparing Genocide Jack’s actions to Chihiro’s death...Mondo’s mind starts spinning.

Everyone’s arguments become white noise as Mondo looks down at his knuckles. He's primarily devoted to keeping his expression neutral, or at the very least consistent with the other students’. The rest of his mind, however, is turning over this idea that Genocide Jack is the killer. On one hand, it’s the most foolish thing he’s ever heard; on the other, it’s Mondo’s golden fucking ticket to freedom. And to think that _Byakuya Togami,_ of all people, is the one handing it to him... 

Mondo could laugh. 

He keeps glancing at Kyoko, though. He’s surprised the girl is so silent. As always, she looks absorbed in her own head, yet simultaneously taking in all the new information being shouted across the floor. She scares Mondo almost as much as this trial does. Hell, she creeped him out since the beginning, and now that he’s the invisible object of her attention--

He tries to ignore her. He’d rather look at Taka. His kyoudai has been typically vocal throughout this trial, which is actually worse than Kyoko’s silence. Whether Taka was contributing to the right or wrong sentence, it hurts either way, because Mondo still betrayed him. He betrayed _all_ of them after he couldn’t reign his stupid feelings in.

And, even now, his instincts are taking over again. He knows that he has sworn to plead guilty at some point, though he has also sworn to at least let the trial progress on its own. But as Byakuya keeps coaxing them farther down into the serial killer hole, Mondo finds himself eager to jump aboard. This bothers him, certainly, and yet. He doesn’t want to die.

Something...unusual, happens, though. Right after Mondo finally volunteers his opinion and demands why the Genocide Jack file had been in the library. It’s Byakuya’s response: “The why of it is probably more trouble than it’s worth. Let’s forget about that for now.”

For some reason, no one else shares Mondo’s stunned expression. He looks wildly around the room and comes up completely empty. _What? Is nobody suspicious about that bullshit?_

Then it occurs to him. The reason Byakuya was so quick to accuse Genocide Jack...the fact that the file was in the library...the tampered crime scene.

Mondo’s heart stops.

_It was you._

His eyes burn holes into the side of Byakuya’s head. The progeny is blissfully unaware, content to keep the spotlight on himself. _Why?_ Mondo wishes he could shout. _Why the fuck would you do that? Why would you fuck with Chihiro like that? What kind of sick fucking bastard are you?_

Maybe Byakuya’s doing this on purpose. Maybe his sadistic, shit-eating self wanted to torture the killer in this trial. The only other one who would know that Genocide Jack was not the killer, and that the crime scene did not look like that originally, would be the Blackened. And Byakuya knew that. Maybe--maybe--

 _Jesus Christ._ What if that’s what Byakuya’s doing? What if he’s trying to prompt an unusual response from the real killer, to give some indication that they know the body was not killed and hung like that?

Well. Mondo will certainly not be giving Byakuya the satisfaction of that. As hard as it is to watch Taka strengthen this horrendously wrong idea, he keeps his lips firmly sealed.

He is a little tempted to speak up when the most interesting thing to date happens next. When Byakuya reveals that Toko shares her body with Genocide Jack--or Jill, as the serial killer dubs herself--it sends Mondo into silent hysterics. He can’t believe that Byakuya is really being this stupid and intentionally accusing someone that he _knows_ is innocent. Hell, Byakuya seems more intent on letting the Blackened graduate than the actual Blackened!

He’s actual grateful to Genocide Jill for proving to be so engaging that he actually forgets about his own inevitable fate for a while. That is, until the class gets over their initial shock, and begins to seriously question her, along with Byakuya’s conviction about her. The sinking feeling returns when Jill reminds everyone that as hard as the progeny is trying to pin the crime on her, not a single part of the tampered crime scene holds true with her actual murders. 

At the same time, Mondo realizes that he has somehow become committed to following this lie with everyone else. Actually, the only person who seems more distressed than him is Taka, who is practically falling over the rails of his pedestal. “I have no idea what’s going on anymore,” he says when Jill brandishes her scissors. “Could--could she really be innocent?”

The misery in his voice tugs at Mondo’s vocals. He has to talk. He has to do it for Taka. “But--the body really was suspended, right?” he points out. He tries to glare suspiciously at Jill. It’s hard to accuse an innocent--how is Byakuya able to do it with such ease? “And nobody but the police knew about that…”

Hina graciously picks up Mondo’s vague tangent and hits the ground running with it. Mondo releases a breath and looks uncertainly back at the prefect. Taka’s eyes are darting back and forth between Makoto, Hina, Byakuya, and Jill, trying to follow along. But he seems to sense Mondo’s attention, and his gaze flickers over to him. 

Taka’s immediate reaction to the brief meeting between them is hard to make out. He’s staring at Mondo with something intense written all over him. Almost like he’s...like Taka’s trying to reassure him. 

_What are you doing?_

He gets his answer when Taka looks away, presumably to glower at Byakuya as he demands, “Well, Byakuya? What’s your response?”

A part of Mondo wants to stop him. To the outside eye, nothing would be out of the ordinary: all Taka’s doing is accusing the most suspicious person in the room. But Mondo doesn’t share the sentiment. No...Taka isn’t that dense. Even if he actually did think Byakuya did it, he wouldn’t be this forward about it. The only answer is--

“Fuck,” Mondo whispers, so quietly that he can’t even hear himself say it. Taka’s trying to cover for him.

He hates that he can’t even enjoy the accusations being fired at Byakuya from every direction. He knows that if he was innocent, he would be hitting Byakuya as hard as Makoto currently is. God, Mondo loves that kid. Even if Makoto does end up becoming his executioner. Maybe the memory of Byakuya's various faces of frustration will serve to comfort Mondo when he dies.

He half-heartedly questions Byakuya about the extension cord. Once again, it’s only to support something Taka says. He comes to regret it when his kyoudai instantly begins accusing Byakuya of being the actual killer. To avoid suspicion, Mondo has to play along and insist, “Hell yes, that’s what happened. So that’s it, right? Byakuya’s the killer!”

Every syllable is a knife that cleaves against the inside of his neck. It leaves a horrible, metallic taste in his mouth that Mondo aches to spit out. No. He can’t keep this up for much longer. He’s re-entering that feverish state; it’s too much to handle knowing what he has to do while being incapable of summoning the strength to do it. There isn’t a right answer, anymore, and all the easy ones are gone. 

The fever burns hotter when, out of nowhere, Makoto says to Byakuya, “You say you killed Chihiro in the girl’s locker room, right? But--are you sure about that? Isn’t it possible that the murder actually took place somewhere else?”

Mondo barely keeps himself from lurching forward. He takes back what he thought about Makoto earlier. It’s much safer to simply hate him.

As soon as Makoto points out the posters and rugs, the discussion begins to go down a rabbit trail that Mondo desperately wants to avoid: the subject of how, exactly, Chihiro was killed in the boy’s locker room. Now there’s a new contender battling to break his sanity. It’s the realization that after all the effort he went through to hide Chihiro’s gender, it won’t matter in the end. 

And then--Taka. Maybe he spots the beads of sweat dappling Mondo’s pale face and mistakes it for confusion. He slaps his hand down on the bar, startling everyone, and shouts, “I got it--maybe she hacked her Handbook! I mean, she was the Ultimate Programmer, and all. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a problem for her!”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Yasuhiro unexpectedly responds. “She--she used the thing that was in the main hall.”

Hifumi’s irritating voice pipes up. “What thing?”

“You know--Leon’s handbook!”

A chorus of voices swell through the room to debate Yasuhiro’s claim. In the meantime, Mondo’s hand drifts protectively towards his inside jacket pocket--which, of course, is where the handbook in question is currently stored. This isn’t good.

“Okay, fine.” Taka’s calm voice cuts in over the muttering, after Byakuya and Celeste essentially confirm that Chihiro could not have used Leon’s handbook. “So then she must have hacked hers like I said! She had the skills, right? So--”

 **“Bzzt! You can’t fix an e-Handbook,”** Monokuma says. His paws are crossed comfortably behind his head as he reclines in the judge’s seat. **“The instant you open one up, a security buzzer starts blaring!”**

“So if she didn’t use Leon’s handbook, and she didn’t modify her _own_ handbook…” That’s Sakura.

“Maybe,” Hifumi suggests, “Mr. Naegi’s initial assumption about the room switch is...wrong?”

Hina gives a tired sigh. “There’s no way she could’ve gotten into the boy’s locker room, so, I guess so…”

There’s another confident slap on wood from Taka’s pedestal. “Okay, then! I vote for Byakuya!” he declares.

 _No, Taka!_ Mondo has to bite back the words. His teeth are grinding so hard he can hear them squeak. He didn’t know the prefect could be this rash--it reminds him of himself. And that is never a good thing.

He’s so tense that when Kyoko speaks up _at last,_ imploring the class to reconsider the decision, he wheels around on his pedestal to glare at her. “What the--you finally open your mouth,” he snaps, “and _that’s_ what ya have to say? There’s no way she could get into the boy’s locker room, right? So--”

“Why are you so sure _she_ couldn’t get in?” Kyoko fires back. “There’s still one other way she could have gained access.”

“ _What?_ ”

“What are you talking about? What other way is there?” Taka yells from across the room. Mondo looks at him for a split second in his peripheral, but he realizes that diverting his attention from Kyoko is a mistake. The girl’s narrow eyes are still on him, steady and sharp. Her brows are pushed together in suspicion. Mondo gets the acute feeling that every single thing about him is under intense scrutiny. It turns him very, very cold.

She doesn’t look away from him even as she says, “To explain that, why don’t we take a little break from the trial? I’d...like you all to see something.”

Mondo makes an incredulous sound that’s drowned out by Monokuma’s sputtering. **“Just what do you think you’re doing?”** demands the bear.

Kyoko’s gaze finally leaves Mondo’s face. “Don’t worry. This’ll make the whole trial more excited. I’m sure that thought must please you?”

Mondo shoves his clammy hands into his pocket. This is worse than he thought. _This is bad, this is bad, this is bad._ She’s gonna take them to Chihiro’s body and show everyone that he’s a boy, and they’re gonna realize that Chihiro was undoubtedly killed in the boy’s locker room. Then it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to connect Mondo to the murder. _This is bad._

Monokuma immediately destroys whatever tentative hope Mondo dared place in him. **“...More exciting, you say?”** he says thoughtfully. Not a second passes before he makes his call. **“Well, alright, then! I declare an official class trial recess!”**

Before Mondo knows what’s happening, they’re on the elevator again, clanking back up to the first floor of the school. Rather than silence, the room is abuzz, as people whisper back and forth. Mondo notices that when they look at each other, the majority of their eyes fall on Byakuya, who is the only one who refuses to interact with people. That’s good. No one suspects him, yet. Besides Kyoko. And...Taka.

“This is...very interesting.” Speak of the fucking devil. There he is, stuck to Mondo like a bur. 

He cringes. For once, he wishes Taka would leave him alone. He really doesn’t want to talk right now. “Yeah,” Mondo grunts.

“What...what do you think Kyoko’s going to show us?”

“Goddammit, I--” He catches himself before he scares Taka off. He looks over and keeps his frown to a bare minimum. “We probably shouldn’t...talk about this during a recess.”

Taka’s eyes scan the elevator. “Why? Everyone else is.” He lowers his voice and adds, “Except Togami...”

Mondo’s saved by the _ding!_ as the elevator reaches its stop. He hurries out with everyone, and though he doesn’t lag at the back--where Byakuya is--he does hang near the edges of the staggered group. Clearly wanting to keep to himself, which isn’t all that unrealistic for him.

Still, Taka moves with him, even though Mondo doesn’t respond to anything he says. “I really thought that...Genocide Ja--er, _Jill,_ murdered Chihiro,” he remarks. “But then--Byakuya, he...he must have done it! He was trying to frame her! I don’t understand how it could be anyone else. It wouldn’t make sense, especially if--Mondo? Are you listening?”

It isn't so much that he _isn't_ listening. It's more that he refuses to even hear Taka in the first place. It's finally settled in that Taka is clearly trying to deny what he already knows, and the effort with which he is trying to do that is too much for Mondo to handle. He doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that not only is he lying to everyone else, but he is also inadvertently prompting the one person he loves to lie, too, on his behalf. And that's something only the scum of the earth would do.

There’s a tug at his sleeve. “Mondo...say something. Come on.”

Mondo’s eyes sting.

“What’s going on?” Taka’s voice drops until only Mondo can possibly hear it. He sounds so small. And afraid. “You--you’re so different, all of a sudden…you’re not even talking.”

There’s an edge to his tone, as though he were actually getting upset. _He must hate me,_ Mondo thinks. _Maybe it’s better that way._

“K-Kyoudai…”

“Dammit,” Mondo hisses. He angrily grabs Taka’s hand and holds it tight enough that the prefect makes a pained noise. Hina looks worriedly over her shoulder; Mondo immediately clears the concentration from his face and assumes a neutral expression. Although, he suspects that the reason she leaves them alone has nothing to do with that. She probably noticed their hands.

Whatever. At least Taka finally stopped pushing him.

They wind back up at the girl’s locker room. Even the third time, it isn’t easy to look at Chihiro’s body. Good God, he didn't realize how _gray_ corpses could become _._ Mondo can hardly recognize his face--the hair is the same, the clothes are the same, but the body under it all is just a husk.

_My fault, my fault, my fault._

He watches in stone-cold silence as Kyoko--fuck her, honestly, and her idiotic condescending round-about-way of getting everyone onto the same page--recruits Sakura to examine Chihiro’s body. He wrings the life out of Taka’s hand in order to still himself when Sakura begins to touch him; to his credit, Taka says nothing of it. It might be because of how transfixed the prefect has become. 

Mondo looks at him, wondering what he’ll find. For some reason, it’s really hard to stomach the way his eyes are blown wide and his mouth is parted in unconscious intrigue. It really just hammers in the point that all Chihiro is...is a piece of evidence, an object, that points to Mondo.

Just like Byakuya said.

He grimaces when Sakura loudly declares that Chihiro is a boy. And there it is, the secret that Mondo went to such lengths to keep hidden for the kid’s sake. Everyone’s reacting the same way he initially did--well, none of them pick up dumbbells and start swinging, so maybe that’s a flawed comparison. Mondo stays quiet, which, ironically, is what he should’ve done last night.

Once everyone’s shouted their fill, Monokuma steers them back out of the room and towards the elevator. It’s even louder than before. Byakuya looks stunned; Kyoko looks determined; Makoto looks nauseous; Jill looks aroused. Everyone else is anywhere between shocked and appalled.

Even so...Taka is as inexplicably quiet as Mondo has been throughout the whole recess. Now he understands how disturbed Taka must have felt on the way up here. Though Mondo doesn’t prompt him to speak, he keeps sneaking looks at him, getting more and more worried each time he does. Until, at last, Taka says abruptly: “Did you know?”

Mondo’s shoulders hunch up. “The fuck you mean, _did you know?_ No way--how could I?” he retorts.

He has no idea why Taka stares at him for so long. Mondo had assumed that they were just gonna keep this charade up, in which he plays innocent and Taka plays dumb. That was simply his next line, and he delivered it as such. So…

 _Oh._ Mondo thinks he knows what it could be. The ease with which he has just lied. The way that for all his _I love you’s_ and _Everything will be fine’s_ , he would still immediately react with deception when questioned by his kyoudai. Yes, that would certainly prompt the hurt in Taka's face.

It kills the mood quicker than seeing the corpse again. Mondo drags his eyes away first. It’s the last time he and Taka share a look before they get back into the courtroom.

He really, really doesn’t want to die.

As if to make up for her silence earlier, Kyoko Kirigiri steals the whip from Byakuya and cracks it with twice as much gusto as she did during Sayaka’s trial. Mondo listens to her while he stews in a heating mixture of awe and dread--with Genocide Jill out of the question and Byakuya’s genuine reaction to Chihiro’s gender reveal, there’s no way in hell that she won’t end up properly exposing him. 

He wonders how Taka will react when that happens. He’d like to think it’ll play in his favor, whatever the hell that would entail.

Right now, the prefect is the most resistant to believing that Chihiro was moved. Not that Mondo needed confirmation, but he can’t think of any other reason that he’d be so against it than the fact that Taka has finally connected the dots. He knows when and where Chihiro died. He knows the one person who did not make some exclamatory remark during the recess was Mondo. And he knows, with unshakeable proof, that Mondo had come to his room last night in tears.

And yet he still will not acknowledge what’s right in fucking front of him. Mondo keeps wondering why Taka hasn’t brought up his late visit--though, of course he knows the answer. Hell, as much as it shames him to say, Taka supposedly _loves_ him. He knows that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t breathe a word about any secret meetings between him and Taka, even if it was probably the most incriminating piece of evidence in the entire case. But he didn’t expect...he didn’t expect Taka to feel the same way.

He lifts his eyes, and only his eyes, from the floor to Taka’s face. He freezes when he realizes Taka’s already looking at him. He gets the feeling that ever since Makoto decided Byakuya could not be the killer, and ever since Mondo swore at Byakuya after his nerves briefly overloaded, Taka has not _stopped_ looking at him.

Mondo’s never been good at speaking with only his expression. But he tries, he tries so damn hard to say _I’m sorry. You deserve so much more than me and this goddamn school. It’s all my fault._ He narrows his eyes, he lifts his brows, he does everything he can do without attracting attention from Kyoko. None of it seems to work, because Taka’s expression never changes from that damn image of dedication. For a student who’s renowned for his commitment to the truth, he is being _unusually_ stubborn right now. Even when they start toying with the idea that someone may have glimpsed the killer last night, not a word comes from Taka’s pedestal.

And, oddly enough, it makes Mondo want to cry.

The strain on the few nerves keeping him together only increases when Celeste begins sharing her testimony and proposes that Chihiro had met with someone last night. He has never felt this anxious before. It’s a wonder no one’s called him out on how tightly he’s holding the wooden bar, or trembling at the knees. It’s a wonder he still hasn’t thrown up, and that he’s even still managing to stand upright.

 _They’re getting too close._ Too _close._ How is it that Mondo has yet to fully accept his fate? He thought he did that when he was walking with Taka to the elevator before the trial. Maybe he regressed when Byakuya started talking about serial killers, and Taka about hacked handbooks. It aborted the birth of any honorable feelings Mondo could’ve developed about the situation. He’s loath to admit it, but if he ends up confessing, it will be to get rid of the unbearable twisting in his gut and chest. _Not_ because he’s a good person--he wants to live too badly to be one.

Celeste points out that Chihiro must have trusted the culprit deeply to approach them. Mondo's starting to shred the skin around his fingernails. _Yeah, he did,_ he wants to cry. _He did, and what did he get for it? A dented fucking skull._

It’s becoming too much to handle. He can feel the end before it comes. He can hear it in his voice as he desperately responds to Kyoko: “So wh--who is it? Who’s the killer?”

Kyoko is the perfect opposite of him. Composed. Calm. Completely, revoltingly safe. “Think back to the track jacket and duffel bag the killer disposed of. Focus on the details of these items, and it should become obvious who was waiting for him.”

Mondo’s head is spinning. Everything is crashing down on him at once. _How does she know? She must know, right? Or she wouldn’t be sayin’ all that shit._ His fingers curl so hard against the breaks in the wood that he thinks they might be bleeding. _Why hasn’t she called me out? What the fuck did I miss?_

_Am I really gonna die here?_

It’s this whirlwind of panicked thoughts that proves to be his downfall. The guilt in him is so strong, so tangible, that it manifests into what feels like another being yowling inside of him. He can feel it: it reaches through him with claws of coal, into his hands and up his chest and into his mouth, like he’s nothing but a puppet. He doesn’t mean to open up. He doesn’t mean to summon his voice. He doesn’t mean to say it.

But Daiya would want him to.

And he doesn’t want Taka--wonderful, beautiful, perfect Kiyotaka--to die.

“So what you’re saying is...the killer was wearing the same blue tracksuit as him? My tracksuit--my tracksuit is black.”

And the world

goes

silent.

Like a pack of wolves, Kyoko and Makoto jump him before he can even finish talking. He can’t stop them; he's nothing but a dying rabbit. He tries, of course, but only once. 

“When Celeste testified a few minutes ago, she said that she saw Chihiro with a track jacket and a duffel bag. She didn’t say anything about the color!” Makoto yells. “So how do you know it was blue, huh?”

Mondo’s vision is tunneling. If he squints, he can see black wings unfolding behind the kid, like he’s the fucking Grim Reaper coming to collect Mondo’s soul. “What are you--” He stammers and pounds his fist--others will think it’s out of fury, but in reality, he just needs the pain to keep his mind straight. “You just--”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Taka’s eyes are on him. Which isn’t necessarily surprising, because the entire fucking courtroom is staring daggers at him, but-- _Forgive me, Taka. I don't deserve it, but--_

“Hey, Celeste. What color _was_ Chihiro’s tracksuit?” Byakuya asks smoothly.

 _God_ dammit _, Togami--_

“As a matter of fact, it was...blue.”

Makoto speaks up again. “And before we began the trial, did you tell anyone that?”

“The only one I told any of this...was you,” Celeste says, her voice slow with increasing horror.

“Then…” Oh, God, it hurts when Sakura starts questioning him. “Mondo...how did you know what color Chihiro’s tracksuit was?”

Mondo can hear Leon laughing at him. _Eat shit, dude,_ the baseball star is cackling. _Now you fuckin’ know how it feels!_

He deserves it, though. He decides he'll just have to punch Leon’s teeth in as soon as he sees him in the afterlife.

“B-because I--I just--”

“I-I’m sure he saw the clothes at some point in the investigation!”

Mondo almost wheezes. How is it that Taka looks and sounds just as desperate as he does right now? “Taka,” he starts to breathe, but of course Kyoko drowns him out. “No, that can’t be it. The bag and clothes were surely disposed of by the time we began our investigation,” she argues.

Mondo’s knuckles beg to sink into her smug little face. She’s just as bad as Byakuya. _Accuse_ me _, dammit, not him--!_

“Then the only reason he could have known what color the tracksuit was…” Genocide Jill jabs a victorious finger in Mondo’s direction. “If he saw Cherry with it before he died!”

 _You can’t even get his fucking name right!_ Mondo would gladly say it; it’s not like it would help or hurt him. But as if his vocals were proud of the way they’ve just signed his death sentence, they refuse to verbalize the thought.

Because of this, he doesn’t even sound remotely convincing when he makes up some stupid excuse about seeing the tracksuit in passing. As expected, Makoto shoots it down immediately. Mondo just doesn’t care. He’s rapidly losing the capacity to muster any sort of emotion at all. Like his body is already dying. 

He gives it a final shot, though. It’s just that Taka’s shaking his head so hard whenever Makoto or Celeste or Jill or anyone besides Mondo speaks. And even though he’s experiencing a lot of ‘worst feelings in the world,’ knowing that he’s giving up while his kyoudai fights for him has to take the cake. And when Kyoko accuses him of _murdering a friend_ \--to hell with that.

He won’t let her accuse him of the very thing he’s spent the last twelve hours killing himself over. 

He musters up the last of his strength and will to lift his voice, one last time, above all the rest. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he bellows. “You’ve been all over me, judging _everything_ I say, putting words in my fuckin’ mouth! What gives you the right to treat me like a goddamn criminal?” 

He falls on the bars in front of him and sees Makoto--no, he sees _everyone_ for who they truly are. They don’t get it. None of them do. None of them realize that Mondo has already gone through this entire trial in his head a million times. They won’t understand the shame, or the regret, or the despair that is eating him alive in the most painful way possible.

Except one of them. 

“Yeah!” says that one exception. “He would never do something like that! This is a false accusation!”

Grief and love are two sides of the same coin. You cannot grieve something or someone without loving it, and in the same way, you cannot love something or someone without risking the grief when you lose it. Mondo understands that now: when he looks at Taka, and sees both a dead man and someone who could’ve been his lover in another life, he feels those two things in full. Stronger than anything he’s ever felt before, towards anything or anyone. And now he gets it. He gets it.

He will die, and Taka will live.

He gets it.

For real, this time.

The fire burns out inside of him. The resignation comes to sweep him off his feet. He’s done. He’s done. There’s nothing left to say. He stares at the floor, where he swears he can see ashes littering the tile. Even though, for whatever reason, the students are still kicking this dead horse of a trial and going over the handbook Hifumi found in the sauna (huh. Maybe Mondo should have moved it, after all. At least it briefly provokes much happier memories.), it’s over. It’s over for him, and Mondo knows.

Taka knows, too. He’s known it from the beginning. And yet, he seems to have absorbed the fire that Mondo gave up; he is shouting, shouting like he’s the one standing under the gallows. “No, wait!” he exclaims to Makoto, just after the boy reminds them of the competition Taka and Mondo had. “Hold on! You’ve got it all wrong! He would never kill--”

 _Taka. You know that's not true._ Mondo wishes he could go over there and soothe him, but it would do more harm than good.

“I don’t accept this! Show me the proof!” Spit is flying from Taka’s mouth. There’s tears dripping from his chin. _Oh, he knows. He always knew._ “The actual, solid, proof!”

Kyoko actually sounds sympathetic. Like she’s _sorry_ about how deep the shit Mondo’s in is. “Well, think about it. If Makoto’s correct, then, Mondo...you broke your own handbook.”

“So, _is_ Mondo’s handbook broken?” Celeste checks.

“My goddamn handbook works just fine!” It’s a lie. Everyone knows it. Mondo’s words are so hollow it’s amazing they even make a sound.

It doesn’t matter at all to Taka. Obviously. “S-see? Look! Makoto was wrong after all! Mondo--” A sob interrupts him for a moment, and he barely manages to cry, “Mondo wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

_I’d kill everyone here but you if it meant we could survive together._

“Just listen,” says Makoto. He, just like Kyoko, sounds reluctant to speak. “Mondo, is the handbook really yours?”

“...The fuck does that mean?”

“The broken handbook in the main hall. Isn’t _that_ yours?”

Taka’s voice is shrill. “What are you talking about?”

Makoto pays him no mind. “I think Mondo swapped his handbook for one that actually works,” he explains. “I think he took _Leon’s_ handbook. After all, Monokuma said himself that Leon’s handbook should have never broken.”

**“That’s right! The punishment it suffered wasn’t nearly enough to destroy it!”**

“And Leon’s dead, and Monokuma already said that borrowing Handbooks from a corpse isn’t a violation of the rules. So.” Makoto finally finds the decency to look down at his hands. “Mondo, if...if I’m wrong about this, you’re welcome to say so. I’d be happy to have made a mistake, but…”

“Son of a bitch,” Mondo mutters. He really has lost it all, hasn’t he? He called it from the beginning. Makoto would be the one holding the keys to his chamber.

“What’s wrong, k-kyoudai? Come on, tell him he’s wrong…!”

Mondo feels exhausted. He hardly has the strength to look weakly at Taka’s shoes. He doesn’t deserve to look at anything else. 

In the absence of Mondo's own response, Taka seems to panic, and starts running his mouth off at Makoto. “You _are_ wrong,” he insists. “Everything you just said is wrong! You made it all up!”

No one, not even Mondo, wants to meet Taka’s eyes. The atmosphere has changed, now that it’s clear who the killer is. There’s no more suspicion, or anger. It’s just...sad.

Makoto’s tone echoes the solemnity. He starts recounting the entire trial, either to satiate Taka (an impossibility) or to dare someone to challenge him. And he’s correct about _every single_ thing, too--it makes Mondo so nauseous that he nearly begs Makoto to stop. He’s already being punished to hell and back; he doesn’t even need to be executed. And the thought doesn’t come from his refusal to die (which he hardly feels anymore). It comes from the fact that every neuron is on fire. Every cell feels like it’s liquidating. He’s reached the end of his rope and he just cannot take it anymore. Not even for Taka, whose face has gone blue.

“Wait, no...no! This...this can’t be right!” The prefect’s voice is quiet for a moment, but it elevates to yet another hoarse scream in an instant. “Where’s your evidence? You need evidence! You need proof! Without any, you _can’t_ pin any of this on him!”

Why does Makoto look so sad? He’s the one who did this. _No,_ Mondo thinks firmly. No, it isn’t Makoto’s fault. 

“Sure. You're right,” the kid agrees quietly. He isn’t even fazed. “Let’s just take each of our handbooks out right now. Once we do that, we’ll--”

“No.” 

A penny could drop on the top floor of the school and everyone would hear it, the room becomes so quiet. Mondo’s eyes are closed. He has never felt so defeated. Or empty. “No,” he says again, his voice slicing through the suffocating silence. “We don’t gotta do that.”

He breathes in deeply. Everyone is listening like it’s the only thing they know how to do. Even Monokuma, who is probably about to burst with glee. He doesn’t want to say this next thing, not while Taka is actively crying already. But he’s so...so tired. Of hiding it.

“I’m sorry,” Mondo utters. “But yeah. I did it. I killed him.”

In some way, the proclamation lifts all the weight off of him. It isn’t that he stops feeling guilty--he’ll never be able to shake that off, even in the afterlife. But now maybe Taka can stop defending him, and even if Taka wants nothing to do with him now that the truth is finally out in the open...now maybe Mondo can actually die in peace. 

Oh, that’s right. It’s time to be executed. At least he seems to have accepted it. Yes, he’s sure of it; he’s stopped shaking at last.

“Kyoudai...what are you saying?”

A chuckle, one long overdue, rumbles from Mondo’s chest. _You knew it all along,_ is what he thinks, but not what he says. “I got no choice, man,” he says hoarsely. “After all that, I--I gotta just...give up.”

He looks slowly at Monokuma. The bear is, indeed, having the time of his life, dancing on his chair like a fucking ballerina. Mondo speaks in a monotone, too exhausted to pretend like he's mad anymore. “Go ahead, Monokuma," he says, "get it over with. Ask for the goddamned verdict.”

**“Roger that!”**

“Wait--” Taka gasps for breath. “Hold on--”

Monokuma gives a maniacal laugh and crows, **“No waiting! No holding on! Time for the moment we’ve all been waiting for: grab your lever and give it a yank!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are gonna hate me for the next part because it's an interlude but just BEAR with me alright


	3. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys you've been cockblocked

INTERLUDE.

* * *

**I’m a bear.**

**Which has been made painstakingly clear to me over my years as the Principal of Hope’s Peak Academy--and I will admit, it’s been getting** **_quite_ ** **annoying to deal with. It’s all “you’re a teddy bear!” this and “aren’t you a stuffed animal?” that. Can you imagine that?** **_Psht--_ ** **me! Being reduced to a toy! It’s obnoxious!**

**But I digress.**

**I am a bear, and as such, it can sometimes become...troubling to try and understand my students. They have such loud personalities, each and every one of them. Much too complex--they’re so confusing, with all of their teenage hormones always flaring up out of nowhere. They make the funniest decisions! Actually, sometimes it isn’t even funny. I can hardly feel emotion, and even I can tell that more times than not, they’re just being plain stupid.**

**Still...lately, I’ve been tossing and turning in bed, and I think it’s their fault. Humanity. Not just my students, but each and every human on this planet! They’ve all got the same unusual brains, with things that even scientists have yet to fully understand--dreams. Luck. Despair. Hope. Heck, even love!**

**The weirdest thing is that even a baby could tell you what those words mean. It’s simple, right? You dream when you sleep. Finding a hundred dollar bill on the floor is lucky. You despair when you lose, and you hope that you win. And love--well, love is gross. But alas; it’s everywhere.**

**Obviously, babies aren’t geniuses, or scientists. So how is it that even though those feelings are so self-explanatory, there’s still so much left to uncover about them? I mean--look at pop culture nowadays! It’s revolting! All these songs, talking about how they wanna know what love is, or how the person they thought they were sleeping with only existed in their dreams.** **_Brrr_ ** **\--really, it makes me want to vomit.**

**And like I said. I’m a bear. I certainly don’t get half of what there is behind understanding love or luck. But hey--I’m intelligent, and I can speculate. Of course, since it disgusts me, I don’t have all that many findings. But I like you, so, I think I’ll take this time to share with you a little of what I’ve got.**

**Love, in particular, makes people behave in ways that are very inconsistent with their** **_real_ ** **personalities. (Of course, this begs the question: is the person more real in their most organized,** **_i.e._ ** **when they are not in love, or are they more real in their most chaotic,** **_i.e._ ** **when they** **_are_ ** **in love? Up to you.) Since the beginning of time, humans acted and reacted based on their most primal instincts--that is, the very instincts that kept them alive.** **_Survival instincts,_ ** **if you will. I mention this because love--which is always praised as this standard for internal success or whatever--seems to work directly against those exact instincts. And that just does not make sense.**

**Think about it. Would you jump in front of a car to save a random person on the street? Absolutely not. That would be foolish. But now, consider that the person is your boyfriend. Or your grandpa. Or your brother.**

**Now, that changes things, doesn’t it?**

**But** **_why?_ ** **Why should it matter who the person is, if your life is on the line? I don’t get it. Not only do I not get why humans are so eager to claim that they’d ‘die for someone,’ but I don’t get why humans would even be created to possess something that would cause them to wind up killing themselves.**

**Did you know that it’s impossible for you to bite your own finger off? Gruesome, I know, but that’s what you get around here. Anyway, it’s impossible because your brain is wired to prevent the human body from intentionally hurting itself. The bite force of your human jaw is between an outstanding 1,100 Newtons to an even** **_more_ ** **outstanding 1,300 Newtons. That is to say: very, very strong! You could put anything in your mouth, and** **_crunch crunch crunch,_ ** **it’s gone in seconds. Unless it’s your own finger--in which case, your body’s instincts will kick in, and the brain will just tell it to stop chewing. Simple as that.**

**That’s just another example I’ve decided to use in order to demonstrate how abnormal** **_love_ ** **is. It seems to completely reprogram the brain to be completely useless, completely unhelpful, in the decision-making in regards to someone that that human being loves. It’s foolish, utterly foolish, the things they’ll do:**

**They’ll kill another human being, completely unprovoked.**

**They’ll resign themselves to utmost secrecy.**

**They’ll work day and night, alone with no friends, to prove that they’re worth it.**

**They’ll sacrifice everything they stand for if it means the other person will be happy.**

**Hell--**

**They’ll even offer their own lives for the sake of another. And by offer, I mean** **_beg,_ ** **down on their knees like a stupid dog.**

**They’ll** **_beg._ **

**And I just don’t get it. People will humiliate themselves, undermine themselves, mutilate themselves, drive themselves absolutely insane until they’re just--a vegetable. All, for what? It can’t possibly be worth it. Don’t they understand? Don’t they get that the only person who can make a decision for someone,** **_is that someone?_ ** **It doesn’t matter how many times you cut yourself or ways you dress yourself or layers you mold yourself with. You can’t make another person love you.**

**_Whoo!_ ** **Isn’t that a happy thought? That’s probably why no one likes to discuss it! No one wants to admit that sorry truth to themselves. They can’t handle it! But I can. I’m a bear. I can handle anything.**

**I’m sure you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this, and telling you that I like you probably isn’t reason enough for you. You’re clever, if you thought that. Because that was a lie--I don’t like you. But I don’t like anyone! So don’t go crying on me, alright?**

**I’m just trying to be a light in the darkness, a guide in the wilderness,** **_etc. etc. etc._ ** **You get it. I’m trying to be the good guy for once and prepare you for what’s about to happen. Really kind of me, I know. You’re more than welcome to think that, but...let it never be said I’m not completely up-front and honest with you. TBH, I would just prefer not to hear your mindless blubbering when you’re forced to encounter things that make no sense, or things that you wish you could change.**

**Because don’t forget! You are completely incapable of directly changing the events that occur in someone else’s life. We’re all just starry-eyed kids in a movie theater watching a film unfold--you can’t do jack! And sometimes, you just have to accept that. Otherwise, you’ll only experience...well, despair!**

**Hm. I guess that’s kind of the point, though. So on second thought...feel free to wish you could have intervened! Just don’t forget how utterly powerless you are to do so, because you’re just a human, and I’m a bear.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah ik y'all wanted to juicy bits but trust me this breather of a chapter was required bc the next one...that shit's gonna be harsh.


	4. the execution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> You gotta hold me down  
> You gotta hold me back  
> 'Cause I might slip away  
> Slip into the past  
> -

**ACT III.**

* * *

If he thought that lifting the dumbbell to move it to the girl’s locker room was a struggle, then pulling the lever to select his own solemn face is like trying to move a fucking skyscraper.

It’s not necessarily because he doesn’t want to. Obviously Mondo doesn’t  _ want _ to--not even the most altruistic son of a bitch would grin at his own suicide. It’s more the fact that he is, for some reason, moving in slow motion, and he has to squint to get rid of the doubles clouding his vision. The rubber handle feels like liquid wax, and when he curls his fingers around it, it sears right into his skin. Mondo doesn’t bother hiding his grimace. He’s sure that people are stealing looks at him, wondering if he will vote for himself, trying to make sense of his pale face. He knows that this is the first time any of them have seen him so scared. 

His lips are pulled so tight that he feels them split. The taste of blood fills his mouth. 

He yanks on the lever.

_ Ding! _

And then it’s done. He’s voted for himself. His hands drop to his sides like leaden weights. He wants to run away, away from the guillotine he has just prepared for his own neck, but his feet are rooted to the floor. 

There’s no going back.

The funniest part is that even though he had thought surrendering himself would feel like--hell, he didn’t know, maybe being devoured alive, it’s actually the most liberating thing he has done in the last twenty-four hours. That isn’t to say there is no pain, or remorse. But there is release in knowing that he has done everything available to him within the time he was given, and from here until the moment he dies, nothing he can do or say will change his fate.

And he will, without a doubt, die. When Mondo finally lifts his head, he watches many sets of guilty eyes flit quickly away from his weary stare. Makoto’s, of course, and Kyoko’s. Aoi’s. Even Celeste’s. Byakuya, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, instead holds his eyes, as if he were challenging Mondo to say something. When the biker remains quiet, because how could he possibly start a fight now, Byakuya sniffs and turns his head away with an air of disappointment.

The only other one who did not immediately turn away is Taka. Of course. And oh, God, how it  _ hurts _ to look at him. But Mondo becomes suddenly paralyzed in place; he watches every single tear well up and crystallize before dripping down Taka’s pale, pale cheeks. First in a drizzle, and then a downpour. They stare at each other across the floor in a silence that is louder than anything Mondo has ever heard.

His lips crack again as he smiles. “I’m sorry,” he mouths.

There isn’t a response. Mondo watches another tear darken the collar choking Taka’s neck.

Above them in the judge’s--no, the  _ executioner’s _ \--throne is Monokuma, who is lying on his stomach with his head propped comfortably in his paws.  **“Uh-oh! This time, it looks like…”** He pauses for dramatic effect, and then announces,  **“You got it right again!”**

Mondo’s head droops forward on its own as Monokuma continues.  **“Yes, it is so. The Blackened that killed Chihiro Fujisaki was...Mondo Owada!”**

His heart shudders as Monokuma utters his name. The blood pounds in his ears. He can feel everyone’s gaze burning into him again, an agony as physical and literal as the blow that doomed him last night. He says nothing. There is nothing to say.

**“In case you’re wondering,”** Monokuma adds after a moment,  **“the vote...was** **_not_ ** **unanimous! Kiyotaka chose the** **_wro-o-ong_ ** **answer!”**

Mondo’s breath hitches. His eyes fly wide open and he finds Taka again, who actually has the nerve to look more grim than sad. The prefect is hugging himself, rocking back and forth, probably not even listening as Monokuma chastises him.  **“You’re treading very close to the danger zone, Mr. Ishimaru! You need to be more careful!”** scolds the bear.  **“Voting for yourself is noble, but stupid. Good thing the others had their act together, or you’d all be boned!”**

The ground is tilting under Mondo’s feet. He lurches forward and grips the wooden bar, staggering under the weight of this new revelation.  _ He didn’t vote for me, _ he thinks in a dizzying cycle.  _ He voted for himself. He didn’t vote for me. _

_ He voted himself guilty. _

“I-I refuse to believe it,” Taka whispers. His fingers are strangling the fabric of his shirt. “Th-there’s no way...no way...he could kill someone.”

Mondo can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry,” he says, out loud this time, hoarse with a hunger to comfort the man one last time.

It seems to trigger a stampede. Taka recoils, his face contorted in a horror that has never belonged to him. “No,” he exclaims. “Why? Why are you a-apologizing?  _ Why? _ ” 

Somehow, Taka manages to stumble around the circle, using the rails as balance. Nobody stops him; every student he passes clears well out of his way. They’re all terrified of his sudden outburst, this strange sort of rage that they have never seen on him. Mondo, however, does not move. Cannot move. Not even as Taka gets right up in front of him; not even when fistfuls of his jacket end up in Taka’s hands; not even as his ears perceive nothing but anguished screaming.

“Why did you do it?” Taka cries out. “Why did you murder Fujisaki? Why did you do it, Mondo,  _ please _ \--make me understand!”

Mondo can feel his own feet leaving the ground as Taka pulls him closer to his face. He wants to be impressed with his kyoudai’s strength. Actually, there’s a lot he wants to do, and a lot of it is focused on apologizing until he cannot breathe any longer. He wants to reach out and dry Taka’s cheeks, or pull him into a tight embrace, or kiss him before he loses the chance. But that’s why he visited Taka last night, right? So that he  _ could _ do all that before it’s too late. And now…

His voice refuses to work. All he can do is stare into Taka’s eyes and search for the hatred that he had expected all this time. It would make this so much easier, if Taka hated him in the end. That’s what he believed.

So why isn’t there any?

**“Well, it looks like Mondo’s taken a vow of silence, so allow me to explain on his behalf,”** Monokuma says from behind them.  **“The story of the murder this time? The sad, sad story of two men!”**

And so it goes. Monokuma begins to indulge them all in Chihiro’s story, first, leaving Mondo to wallow in his own swamp of a heart. It’s all very confusing, in that murky expanse, and he wishes they’d recognize that his silence is not so much because he is stubborn or resentful. It’s because he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won’t ever stop talking. So it’s all in all a very good thing that Monokuma’s story is taken straight from the front page of the tabloids.

Somewhere along the way, Taka’s grip on Mondo’s jacket begins to lessen, but he doesn’t fully let go. In fact, Mondo doesn’t even think Taka’s listening. The man’s shoulders are beginning to shake, and his face is pulled in that sad, gross way that notifies everyone around you that you’re about to absolutely lose it. Mondo has no idea if holding his kyoudai will make it worse or not, so he’s both shocked and grateful when Taka makes the decision for him. He falls forward, onto Mondo’s chest, and begins to gasp against his skin.

Mondo stiffens. But he’s not stupid. One hand drifts up all on its own and pushes into Taka’s hair. It’s wet, for some reason, and-- _ oh, my God, _ he must've been sweating. The entire fucking trial. “You knew the whole time,” Mondo says, so quiet that only Taka could possibly hear it. “Ya just didn't wanna believe it.”

It could just be the tremors, but he’s pretty damn sure Taka nods.

Whether or not Taka truly confirmed it, it still prompts Mondo to hold him tighter. He presses Taka into him and hugs him with his other arm, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from folding in on them both. He has to reserve some dignity, some solemnity, some respect for the story of the deceased Chihiro. He knows that those who aren’t thoroughly engrossed in Monokuma’s story--which, now that he steals a look around the room, are most students--are watching them. Probably in disgust. Or maybe just pity.

Not that it matters in the slightest. Mondo’s a dead man, and by the looks of it, Taka’s as good as dead, too. He tries not to smile, because that would be selfish. He just keeps his chin propped up on Taka’s head and lets the prefect cry, and cry, and cry, enough for both of them. Since Mondo’s body, of course, will no longer give him the satisfaction of breaking down. No, he will be painfully conscious for the last minutes of his life.

He strokes Taka’s hair to distract himself. It’s almost enough to do the job, but then Monokuma’s story begins to turn.  **“When little Fujisaki decided to start exercising, he thought it would be good to ask for help,”** says the bear.  **“But...he wanted to tell that person his secret first, and then ask them to help him from there!”**

Mondo’s teeth clench. The nausea returns. He is temporarily plunged into the nightmare of yesterday--images flash before him. Chihiro’s eyes, his soft voice, his soft hair. The dumbbell, the blood. The anger. His arms tighten around Taka. How shameful, to still be using other people to control his own emotions.

**“And the person he went to…”**

“It was me,” Mondo grits out. He closes his eyes. He can’t handle the force of everyone's attention. Especially while he’s still holding Taka like this. “He came to me. He trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

**“Yup, he sure did!”** cackles Monokuma.  **“Bikers are rather known for that ‘my-word-is-my-bond’ spiel. So Chihiro probably figured that even if he confided in Mondo, he’d be honor-bound to keep the secret! And on top of that…”** Here Monokuma’s voice takes on a taunting note.  **“Owada here is a manly specimen! The very symbol of a strong man that Chihiro always aspired to be.”**

Now this almost,  _ almost _ makes Mondo bark a laugh. He glares at Monokuma, but only for a second, because of how impeccable his timing and delivery is. Really, calling him a  _ strong man _ while he’s clinging to the person he loved and lied to? Oh, well, maybe that’s a good reality check, because he’s been clinging to Taka for much too long, now. 

Saying that he pushes his kyoudai away is too harsh--it’s more of a light nudge and a small step back. Taka’s still holding onto his shirt, but Mondo covers his hand with his own, making the prefect look up at him in a picture of perfect despair. Mondo purses his lips and gently pries Taka’s fingers away from him. “Taka,” he whispers, between his teeth.

The hand falls away without a sound.

**“That was his aspiration,”** Monokuma is saying. **“And he thought only with Mondo’s support, would he ever be able to come** **_close_ ** **to that!**

Kyoko unexpectedly interjects. “So, that must be why Mondo did what he did,” she muses. “To keep the promise he made to Chihiro.”

Everyone, including Mondo himself, is visibly confused. “Did what he did?” Makoto repeats.

Kyoko lifts her eyes to Mondo’s. The biker flinches, recalling how cold she had been from the start, but everything he finds in her face is different. She looks genuinely regretful, even sorrowful, at what he is to endure. With a heavy voice, she clarifies, “Moving Chihiro’s body from the boys’ locker room to the girls’.”

Hifumi voices the obvious doubts. “Wasn’t that just to hide what he had done?”

“That could’ve been part of it, but, I don’t think it was the main reason.” She is still watching Mondo, gauging his reaction, verifying the own truth of her words. And Mondo lets her, because in the end, she is right. She is always right. “The real purpose was to keep the promise between men, between him and Chihiro. We would’ve suspected his identity if we found him in the boys’ locker room, and he--Mondo--tried to protect Chihiro’s secret.”

Her voice softens as she reaches the end of her explanation. “Mondo may be a killer,” she says carefully, “but he’s the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader first. And bikers keep their promises, don’t they, Mondo?”

Mondo’s tone is thick. “Yeah,” he says.

Taka’s looking between him and Kyoko in a panic. Mondo thinks it’s because he might’ve caught the true meaning of Kyoko’s words, but he’s wrong. “But--why? Why would he--” He turns back to Mondo and stammers, “Then why’d you kill Chihiro? I--I don’t understand, you guys--you trusted each other, didn’t you?”

Mondo swallows, though the lump in his throat doesn’t disappear. He can figure out what Taka means:  _ I trusted you. _ We _ trusted each other. _

“I couldn’t,” he starts, and then he falters because that wasn’t the right way to say it. So he tries again. “I just--no matter what, I didn’t want--anyone to know.”

He deflates like a balloon at the end of his short statement. Thankfully, ever one to take the spotlight, Monokuma easily picks up where he left off and says,  **“Well, while we’re on the subject, why don’t I tell you? That embarrassing memory, the secret he didn’t want anybody to know...you guys know what Mondo did?”**

Here it comes. If he hadn’t let go of Taka already, this would’ve been the time to do it. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and leans his chin so deeply into his chest that the weight of his hair makes it impossible to look back up. He braces himself, and rightfully so, because he is just about knocked flat on his ass as Monokuma announces,  **“He killed his own brother!”**

A strangled sound leaps free from his throat without his saying-so. Luckily, it’s drowned out by the inevitable cacophony of horrified gasps and whispers, every one of them damning his name. Even Taka reacts audibly: he clutches his chest and looks wildly between Monokuma and Mondo. “That’s not true,” he insists. He’s crying again. “Please, say it isn’t true!”

_ It isn’t, _ Mondo aches to say, because technically,  _ that’s  _ the truth. Saying that he  _ killed _ his brother is giving him credit he does not deserve. But he was certainly involved in Daiya’s death, and...well, who cares, in the end? He’s still guilty. He’ll still die for it. And maybe now, Taka will finally hate him for it.

The thought of Daiya, though, stirs something new in Mondo’s heart. An awakening, if you will. All at once, his body straightens on its own, and that noble acceptance of responsibility reignites the flames that used to burn so bright in his veins. It’s his turn to give his testimony, because he’ll be damned if Monokuma is the one to deliver it for him.  _ I’m not dead yet, _ he shouts in his head. 

Out loud, though, he lifts his voice and grunts, “Yeah. Ya know what? My big bro was like a god to me. He created the best damn biker gang in all of Japan, so of course I joined up.”

He glances at Taka, who’s already hooked on his words like an addict. Probably waiting for Mondo to deny the accusation. Or maybe he’s just so desperate for anyone other than Monokuma to speak that he’ll even listen to a murderer. His lover? Fuck that. Last night was eons ago.

“My bro was the top dog,” Mondo says roughly. “I was his number two. When it came time for him to hang up his colors...I--I was supposed to take his place as the boss.” He gathers a shaking breath and closes his eyes to ward off the ghosts beginning to collect and drift around him. “But--I wasn’t him, ya know, not even  _ close! _ I felt like such a--a failure, next to him, a-- _ fake. _ ”

Mondo’s spitting the words, now. Everyone’s leaning in. No one wants to miss a single word of what will become his own eulogy. He can’t look at Taka. Not while he admits this. His eyes burn as he forces himself to recall that one fucking night. “On the night of his retirement party...I challenged him to a street race. I was so desperate to win, I started--I started pulling some really reckless  _ shit, _ and--and that’s when--”

He falls onto the wooden bar. He’s shaking again. He hates it, he hates it--he thought it was  _ over, _ he thought it’d be  _ gone _ when the verdict was confirmed. But now that his body has emptied itself, it is refilling with the shards left behind by his old self. His better self. He may have been stupid back then, and he might’ve gotten a man killed for it, but at least he hadn’t been the one behind the slaughter.

He shudders and gasps for breath as he feels the pungent wind in his lungs, hears the truck's horn blaring in the background of his own tires shrieking on asphalt. He feels Daiya knock him off the lane. He listens to the cheers turn into screams. That’s when he decides he cannot tell them, any of them, exactly what had happened. “My brother died that night,” is all Mondo’s able to get out. “Saving my _stupid_ ass. _Don’t let the gang go to hell, Mondo. We worked too hard, Mondo._ _Promise me. As a man._ ”

He opens his eyes once he has regained a rhythm to his breathing. He finds Taka right in front of him, staring up like a lost kid. Mondo must’ve turned towards him sometime during his own reminiscing--most likely when he got all wrapped up in that  _ promise _ shit. He reaches out, somewhat in a daze, forgetting there are other people in the room. He expects Taka to slap him away, but to his muted shock, the man lets him brush a drop of grief away just before it falls down his cheek. Really, Taka doesn’t move at all.

Mondo bites his lip and shakes his head. “I was such a weakling,” he mutters. Everyone hears it, but he had been speaking to himself. He turns away and punches the rails of his podium, losing himself in his own self-hatred. “Pathetic. I couldn’t man up to my own feelings, I--”

And now a more recent tragedy is replaying itself in his head. A younger boy, with much lighter hair than Daiya’s, stands before him. Hopeful. Small. Strong. “But Fujisaki--”

_ I wanna change!  _ Bright eyes. White grin.  _ It’s time for me to become a man! _

“This little dude--with so much to lose. Had the balls to face his fears and beat ‘em.” His voice raises to a shout, but who’s he fooling? “I was jealous of him, alright?” Mondo exclaims. His hands are trembling so hard that if he were to open his fists, they would fall right off his wrists. “I was so--fucking jealous! ‘Cause he was stronger, and--”

He has to stop, because all he can hear is his own voice. The things he shouted at Chihiro last night, in the moments before it happened. The terrible, terrible things--he had to have thought Mondo hated him. There’s no explaining it, no explaining the way Chihiro had begun to cry at his feet. How could he have known that the entire time, Mondo had just been screaming at himself?

“I crushed his head in,” Mondo gasps as he resurfaces, for just a moment. There’s that same shockwave of repulsion that ripples from his body to the edges of the courtroom. He doesn’t have to look to know Taka is huddling into himself to hide. Dude hasn’t stopped crying this whole time. “Because he was  _ brave. _ I killed someone who--came to  _ me, _ for help--someone who looked up to me--!”

_ And now, why would anyone ever do that? _

“He was more man than I’d ever been!” His voice is starting to go. He could only keep it from becoming that strained, broken tone of a person lost to his own sobbing for so long. 

But he has to steady himself. Rebuild himself. He can’t let it happen now--he can’t let the fragments of his soul fall at his feet when he had somehow kept them together for so long. He forces himself to look up, at everyone, even when they won’t look back. He sucks in a breath and holds it until he can release it steadily. “I killed Chihiro,” he asserts again. “And just before, I...I felt something starting to creak. In my head. I don’t remember anything after that, and...when I woke up, he was laying at my feet. Covered in--blood. And...I had the dumbbell in my hand, and I was just... _ staring _ at him. Down on the ground.”

“H-hey,” Taka whispers, and Mondo looks at him the instant the sound is out of his mouth. They’re both reaching out, pulled to each other by some fucked-up gravity, but not quite touching. Mondo wants to offer him something to prove that he is the man Taka thought he was. The man that came to Taka alone last night, vulnerable, safe in the seclusion of his lover's bedroom.

But he can’t lie. Not anymore. “I killed him,” Mondo utters a third time. He says it softly, as this is the first time he is directing it at Taka. He’s come to realize that he has yet to confess to his kyoudai personally. Taka, of all the people here, deserves it most. He deserves to make this final call between love and hate, acceptance and rejection, forgiveness and resentment. 

“I...killed...Chihiro. And even after all this time, I’m still just as weak as I’ve always been.” He gives a dry laugh, but to his credit, he never looks away from Taka. And Taka never looks away from him. “And thanks to that,” Mondo murmurs, “I did something I can never take back.”

They’ll all think that what he’s referring to is Chihiro’s death. They’d be wrong. And that’s exactly why Mondo is such a despicable human being, because…

To him, at least, his worst mistake was letting someone love him without knowing the monster he truly is.

There’s a long stroke of silence. Even Monokuma allows it. Although, the bear could simply be getting off on the breaks in the quiet, like when Taka gives a muffled hiccup or Makoto exhales shakily or Mondo himself can’t stifle his own feeble wails. His muscles are pushing and pulling, trying to keep his body up against this vacuum of despair, but it will soon be all for naught. He wants to reach out and gather Taka against him like an anchor. And yet, once again, he is immovable.

Finally, though, Monokuma has drunk his fill, and he sighs,  **“Oh, boo, hoo, hoo. Don’t you see? You’re all like him! He couldn’t cut free of his regrets from the outside world. He doesn’t know what real strength is. You guys see any** **_hope_ ** **in there? ‘Cause I sure don’t!”**

Mondo has half a mind to shut the bear up, but he knows Monokuma’s right. The only reason he hates him, or why anybody else hates him, is because that damn bear is the physical manifestation of the demons lurking in everyone’s head. And maybe Taka realizes that, because he’s the one who grabs the podium railing and shouts, “You-- _ bastard! _ Just shut up, you son of a bitch! Go ahead! Say that again! I dare you!”

Mondo’s mouth parts in a ghoulish grin. It can hardly be considered a smile, in this state, but by God--he had not expected that from his kyoudai. He could laugh. He could dance. He could fall at his knees and beg the prefect to kill him, because he simply cannot imagine someone like Taka still choosing to defend him even after knowing what he does. And maybe he should, but naturally, Monokuma does not give him that chance.

**“I would, but, as much as I love watching men weep like damsels in distress...it’s punishment time!”**

_ Wait. _

No--hold on. He doesn’t want to die.

While Mondo freezes, Taka reacts. “Huh? You mean-- _ execution--? _ ” he stammers.

Monokuma is already barging ahead.  **“That’s what I promised you, right? The Blackened that disturbs the peace will be punished!”**

“Hold on,” Taka shouts, and Mondo's pulling him into his arms before he knows what he’s doing. “Taka, please,” he breathes. He grips his shoulders and shakes him once so that the other man notices him. Mondo grimaces at the force of the terror that hits him, but he does not back down. “ _ Taka-- _ ”

**“Now, then! I’ve prepared a very special punishment for Mondo Owada, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader!”**

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, kyoudai,” Mondo blurts. His nails must be stabbing into Taka’s shoulders, but who cares, really? The prefect is grabbing at him just as desperately. “Please believe me--”

Taka sounds like a fish out of water. “No,” he gasps; he looks over Mondo’s shoulder, at Monokuma, and shrieks, “No, wait-- _ wait _ \--”

**“Spoiler, I think he’s gonna dig it!”**

“Taka,” Mondo tries again, but the prefect wrenches himself out of his grip and staggers over to Monokuma’s seat as the bear continues.  **“Whaddaya say, Owada? Gimme five, brosef! Get ready for hell on wheels!”**

Maybe Mondo should’ve tried harder to hold Taka back, because it really seems like he’s about to rush the bear and kill himself. “Don’t do this! Take me instead,” he’s sobbing, and Mondo can’t believe his eyes or ears. The idea of Taka trading his life for Mondo’s sorry excuse for one--the idea that Monokuma might even  _ agree _ to it--

**“Let’s send him off with a bang! Give it everything we’ve got!”**

Taka is screaming, crying senseless things, and Mondo barely reaches him in time to grab him again.  _ Why isn’t anybody else stopping him? _ He grips Taka’s wrist as the man howls, “No, I’m--I’m begging you, not to kill my--please,  _ please _ you can't kill him!  _ Please _ \-- _! _ ”

Mondo manages to pull Taka away from the bear and forces the man to look at him. “Look at me, Taka,” he pleads. “Don’t cry. Don’t panic. I’m here--”

**“It’s! Punishment time!”**

“I said  _ wait, _ ” Taka screams, his voice louder and shriller than ever before. In his panic, Mondo conducts the briefest survey of the rest of the courtroom. The only people with enough composure to watch this tragic shit-show are Byakuya and Kyoko. No one else can seem to handle it.

He turns back to Taka and Monokuma. There’s that tell-tale tremor in the floor, and Mondo knows that in just a few seconds, the pedestal with that goddamn button will rise in front of the bear. Then it’ll all be over. With a new urgency, he grabs Taka’s face and leans in until their lips brush together. His palms almost slide right off his kyoudai’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Mondo whispers. He’s lost count of how many times he’s said it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep the promise we made. I lo--”

**_BEEP!_ **

He’s interrupted by the iron collar that flies out of the curtains behind the executioner’s throne. As if driven by an omniscient phantom, it finds his neck and clamps around it, as heavy and cold as death itself. Mondo chokes on it, his voice cut completely off, and in the moment it takes for him to decide whether to grab for Taka or to pull at the shackle, it wipes him clean off his feet.

It’s impossible to react thoughtfully. There are no emotions in this new world. Only primal, feral instincts, the ones that completely take over Mondo’s body and order him to scramble at the ground and try to keep up with the chain whisking him through the darkness. He gasps for breath and tries to stand, but he is being pulled too fast to do anything. He tries to formulate an idea--he’s been in situations like this before, he’s had to react in split seconds--and the only fact he can come up with is that within the next minute, the rest of the class will be on his heels to arrive in the execution chamber beyond the courtroom.

_ Taka is coming. _

Yes, Taka. Taka--yes, he can hear him screaming, but the prefect’s voice is getting quieter. He’s losing time. It’s so dark, and--

He doesn’t want to die.

He didn’t finish his thought, did he? That Mondo loves him. He might’ve said it last night, but--

The realization that he couldn’t say what he had to fills Mondo with fury. It’s enough to get him to leap to his feet the moment the chain slackens, the moment the wired fence slams shut in front of him and cuts him off from the living. He throws his hands up and hooks his fingers into the fence. His body is unyielding. He will not die before he sees Taka one last time.

And there the students are, led by Monokuma, rushing into the chamber as it fills with a frightening green glow. Taka is sprinting past them all. He’s yelling Mondo’s name. “Taka,” Mondo cries. He reaches through the fence as far as he can, and Taka’s there, slamming against the wires.

They’re both gasping, straining, pushing and clawing at the barrier that will never give. “I love you, Taka,” Mondo sobs. “I love you, I wish--”

“Don’t go. Don’t  _ go! _ ” Taka thrusts his arm through one of the holes. Mondo lets him cling to him, as dangerous as it is--it isn’t like he’s not trying to grab his kyoudai’s face through the fence. “I love you, Mondo!  _ Don’t go! _ ”

Mondo shakes his head and tries to smile. He can smell the salt of his tears dripping onto the steel fence. His laugh turns into a cough--the collar is beginning to pull. “I have to, Taka. I--have to.”

Taka’s throwing his whole body against the fence like he’s trying to rip it from the floor. “You can’t leave me here,” he wails.

Now Mondo’s really starting to choke. It’s getting harder to hang on, and with their shared tears slicking the metal, he may lose his grip. He’s out of time. With his free hand, he pulls his jacket off of him and tries to stuff it through the gaps. “Take it,” Mondo urges him between strangled breaths. “Take it. Remember--me. Okay? I’m--I’m still there, I won’t--ever leave ya.”

Taka accepts the jacket, but he hasn’t stopped struggling. “Please don’t go--!”

“Promise--promise me, you’ll make--make it out--for the both of us.”

“I...promise, but--Mondo, you can't go!” It’s little more than a wet burst of discordant noise.

“I--love you, Taka.”

And with that, Mondo gathers all the breath and strength he has left in his body, and thrusts his face against the fence. Luckily, Taka is already pressed against the other side, and the universe allows them one last feeble connection through the wires. 

If despair could be concentrated into a taste, this kiss would be it--there is nothing but tears, and heartbreak, and a terrible loneliness that only one will have the misfortune of suffering for the rest of his life. Perhaps, now that the others are witnessing this tragic farewell, they will realize what the two of them had shared. Perhaps someone will take pity on Taka. Perhaps the prefect will make it out of this hell, and perhaps...perhaps he’ll find it within himself to live.

It’s the best Mondo can do for him.

The kiss lasts three seconds, and it feels like nothing at all. As the iron chokehold finally becomes too much to bear, Mondo surrenders his grip on the fence. He lets Monokuma rip him away from his kyoudai, his lover; he keeps one arm outstretched as he is pulled to his death. If he focuses hard enough, it feels like his fingers are still laced around the hand Taka still has shoved through one of the holes. If he listens hard enough, he can hear Taka shouting something at him. Something like  _ I love you too. _

But his racing heartbeat is just so much louder.

The green light gets brighter as his ragdoll of a body is hauled onto a massive motorcycle. It seems that that is where his collar was ejected from; when he finally stops thrashing and settles against the chair’s back, it is impossible to lean forward after the chain locks. He tries to pull at the shackle to give him room to  _ breathe, _ but some force tugs his arms back and around the sides of the seat. Somehow, he isn’t surprised when his wrists are lashed behind him. It’s honestly overkill--he wasn’t about to go anywhere.

So he really is about to die.

It fully sinks in when Monokuma, decked out in a fucking mockery of a pompadour, jumps onto the driver’s seat in front of him. Mondo glares down at him. He listens to the air whistle in and out of his nostrils. He wonders how long it’ll take before he starts to scream.

Actually, he has no idea what’s about to happen. That is, until he finally looks at what’s awaiting him--he’s only minutely surprised when he realizes that a stunt cage is right smack in front of them. Is that what they’re gonna do? Spin him until he blacks out, and until the oxygen is sucked right out of his lungs?

Better not to think about it. And...speaking of thinking, how is it that Mondo is still capable of it? How is he not lost in that reckless panic that had plagued Leon when he was dragged off like this? How is he still sitting so  _ still _ , almost...peacefully?

He’s sweating. He can feel that much. But maybe his biker’s instincts have come to save him--yes, the part of his brain that knows to remain calm and collected in the face of possible death has activated. It’s the side of him that kept him alive in the street races, in the gunfights, in the joyrides. And it’s the side of him that will keep him from throwing up right now.

Although, it’d be funny if he did, considering Monokuma is right fucking there. His goddamn chauffeur, Charon on a motorcycle. But, regardless.

No, it’s true. Mondo is quiet. He won’t fight this. He fought it long enough to say goodbye to Taka, and that’ll have to do. It’s hard enough already to listen to Taka’s broken screams, and once he gets closer to the ghosts on the other side, it’ll be impossible to hear the other man above their voices. Mondo silently promises to make sure that the last thought he has is of his kyoudai. That, at least, he has the power to fulfill.

He doesn’t want to die.

But he’s out of time.

Maybe it’ll be quick. He isn’t sure how this will work out, but maybe he’ll be lucky enough to go before it gets too bad. And as Monokuma kicks the bike into gear, and as Mondo feels it lurch and rev underneath him, he cycles through the names in his head to keep sane. To remind him that he deserves this, and that this is the only way to redeem himself for them.

_ Taka, Daiya, Chihiro. Taka, Daiya, Chihiro. Taka, Daiya, Chihiro. _

The bike gallops forward at full speed, aiming right for the cage. Mondo pretends the wind on his face smells of the city, rather than dust.

_ Taka, Daiya, Chihiro. Taka, Daiya, Chihiro. _

He watches Monokuma eject himself from the driver’s seat, leaving the bike on its deathly trajectory with only its lonely passenger in tow. Naturally. It was too much to hope the bear would die with him.

_ Taka, Taka, Taka, Taka, Taka, Taka _

He enters the cage. 

_ Taka, Taka, Taka _

The world begins to spin, and spin, and spin.

_ Taka _

_ Taka _

Even without a driver, the bike somehow picks up speed all on its own. It’s a good thing Mondo had begun chanting his mantra before Monokuma began to boil his brain from the inside out. His eyes squeeze shut; his teeth grind together; every muscle goes absolutely rigid. It is a fight to keep himself stable, and though there is no pain yet, there’s the sheer discomfort of being spun around and around, over and under, with no signs of stopping--

_ Taka, Taka-- _

_ Taka-- _

Mondo’s mouth falls open. He can’t even scream. The centrifugal force generated by the speed of the bike’s rotation keeps the stale oxygen in his lungs, fermenting until it begins to taste like acid. It’s almost impossible to refresh it.

_ Taka-- _

His stomach is churning. His head is spinning. He’s only ever had two migraines in his entire life, and the agony he felt then was like a pinch compared to the beast trying to claw its way out of his skull right now. He is suspended in limbo, and it’s worse than he could’ve ever imagined: he wants to empty his guts and rid himself of the putrid sickness inside of him, but nothing can come out of him. Nothing at all.

So, then, if he cannot scream, who’s the one making those bloodcurdling sounds?

He knows the answer.

_ Taka _ , _ Taka, Taka _

It’s getting hot in here. Too hot. Much too hot for it to be created by the bike alone. It’s impossible for him to open his eyes, or even move against the position he is frozen in, but he thinks he can see some sort of flickering light pulsing behind his eyelids. He’s lost the ability to really feel anything but the excruciating sensation of being undone, atom by atom, cell by cell, from the inside out, but if he focuses...really  _ focuses… _

Is the bike getting  _ faster, _ somehow?

_ Save me, Taka--! _

A futile thought. A prayer, maybe, but it falls at the feet of silent gods. Are there gods, in this world? If there are, they haven’t been much help. Maybe they’re as sadistic as the Mastermind himself. Maybe they enjoy watching this poor boy hurtle around a metal cage that feels far too small and far too tight, while he drowns in the bile filling his own throat and lungs. Or maybe there isn’t anyone at all waiting on the other side for him. 

That’s got to be the worst possibility.

Time is meaningless. So is movement. So is trying to sense anything else. How long has he been on this death ride? One minute? Five? It’s felt like an hour. So why, why-- _ why isn’t he dead yet? _

He wants to bang his head against the seat until he passes out. What else is there to do but wait? Perhaps he can induce a blackout. He knows it’s possible to faint when your body is under immense pain, immense stress. And being executed like this...the threshold has to be coming up fast. Any moment now, he will pass, and it will be over. 

It’ll all be over.

_ Taka _

_ Don’t cry, Taka _

It’s gone from hot to scorching. Searing. He is fixed in the mouth of the devil, choking on the noxious fumes rising from the furnace inside of it. He has never felt this kind of pressure on his own body: it makes it feel like his skin is peeling itself off and his muscles are roasting in the effort it takes to keep him well and conscious. In his delirium, Mondo briefly finds himself back in the sauna. It’s fuzzy, and distorted, but he could make himself believe it’s because of the steam in the room rather than his overloading head.

There he is. Taka, in front of him. Alive.  _ “Mondo,”  _ he whispers, and the dying man reaches out.

_ Taka. _

Taka smiles, and suddenly his hair grows and thickens. His red eyes morph into a steely gray, and there is Daiya, beckoning to him. But his smile is all Taka.  _ “C’mon, bro,” _ says Daiya with that same grin.  _ “It’s about fuckin' time.” _

There’s an apparition beside the dark-haired man. It’s smaller than him, thinner, too translucent to make out. Before Mondo can make out who it is, he is pulled back into his death throes with a violent jerk. It is burning, nauseating, unbearably intense--it’s like his own body is dissolving. No... _ melting _ .

His eyes are on fire. He has a feeling that even if he could open them, they wouldn’t work like they used to before. It’s okay. He doesn’t need them. It’s best if he didn’t look. He’d rather focus on the image of Daiya standing before him.

He’s so close to him. His brother. His one and only big brother, the god of his life.

Ah, there it is. The familiar caress of beautiful blackness, reaching out to whisk his consciousness away from this horrible place. Mondo can feel it tickling the edges of his liquid brain and curling around him like a blanket. He’s on the verge of letting it, but then--  
_No._ How could he forget? He has one last promise to keep.

And so, in the final landscape of his life, Mondo gasps as he fights against his dark savior; he raises his voice above the silence.  _ Taka! _

He is being swallowed up, and he swears he’ll allow it, but not before he can fulfill his promise between men.

_ Goodbye, Taka, _ he whispers.

The body of death envelops him. Just before it can smother his face, Mondo exhales the last bit of sour air inside him. 

He can see, now, that the apparition beside Daiya is Chihiro. An angel of a boy, more vibrant in death than he was in life. He looks like he’s glowing.

Mondo doesn’t want to die.

But, in the end, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader yields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> Come back to me  
> Come back with me  
> Back to when we were young  
> And making out in the mouth of the devil  
>   
> Yeah, come back to me  
> Yeah, come back with me  
> Back to when we were numb  
> Just bleeding out in the mouth of the devil  
> -  
> -Mother Mother


	5. the reunion (part I).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i headcanon daiya owada's voice to sound like the voice mondo was given in the anime (also this is the first time i have written daiya & mondo interactions and i've never read any fics with them, so, sorry in advance)  
>   
> ALSO. this was not originally meant to be two parts, but a lot has come up at school, plus this 'final' chapter is looking to be WAYYYY longer than the rest. so, since there's kind of a clear part one and part two, i figured i'd divide it so i could at least give you guys something to work with. i'm not sure when i'll be done with the second AND FINAL part, but i will leave updates when they're warranted!

**ACT IV, part I.**

* * *

He never planned on dying this young. Not really.

Which is funny, isn’t it? Just hilarious?

As the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, you’d think that Mondo Owada has revisited the idea of death again, and again, and again. At least enough to consider what might be waiting for him on the other side. You’d think that during all the joyrides he’s led and all the gunfights he’s survived, in the midst of the adrenaline rushes that sent his heart hurtling down the expressway, he might’ve caught a glimpse of divine sunshine. Or maybe of all the angels playing harps atop clouds. 

But in the end, for all his expertise, Mondo finds out that death is nothing like he'd expected.

When the pain stops, and he can’t hear the screaming any longer, he surprises himself by gasping. He didn’t know he could still do that.

Then again, it isn’t really a  _ gasp, _ per se. That is, even though it takes him a second to realize it, there’s no sensation of his chest filling and lifting with air. This makes him ‘gasp’ yet again, and he sits up in a cold sweat.

_ I’m dead. _

That’s his first thought. There’s no denying it. He had died on that motorcycle. In the last split second before his brain shut down, saving him from the agony of his execution, he had felt every single neuron in his body overloading in what he imagines to be the worst meltdown a human could experience. There was no surviving that. 

And yet...here he is. 

_ Here? _

It’s about time he opens his eyes. He’s scared, though, so he covers his face before he peeks through one eye. And then the other. 

_ Huh. _ He looks exactly the same as...before.

Curious, now, Mondo frowns and stretches an arm out in front of him. He studies it carefully, and he finds no blemishes. No boils, no burns. Actually, there isn’t a single flaw at all--even the scars he earned back when he was a real biker gang leader, a real delinquent, have vanished from his tan skin.

For some reason, this discovery briefly frustrates him, and it isn’t because of the lack of wounds. It’s the memories that pass through his head when he thinks about the injuries he had received throughout his life. He can accept this familiar self-awareness in the afterlife, but he had thought that he would be able to relive every moment of his real life in vivid detail. So why is it that nothing about these memories feels...unique? That is, why don't they feel like they're entirely _there?_ As though Hope's Peak Academy were just...some textbook academy?

When that name, that damned school’s name, flashes through mind, his body reacts accordingly. He flinches at his own thoughts and hugs himself tightly; he draws in another deep, trembling breath, even though he doesn’t need it.  _ It’s over, _ Mondo whispers to himself.  _ You escaped. It’s okay. _

But...something’s still bothering him.

After a few minutes of establishing that he does still have a body, and that his brain still functions, Mondo slowly picks himself up. He feels lighter, the same way you do when you breathe too fast and feel like you’re dancing on air, except there isn’t any of that dizziness. It’s like he’s weightless even though he still has matter.

He turns in a slow circle. Now that he’s confirmed that he...well, that he  _ exists, _ he wants to know where he is. Did he make it to heaven? He didn’t think it was even an option for someone like him. And yet--there are no flames. He isn’t sweating. There are no gates of hell in sight.

_ Gates of hell. _ There it is again. That same feeling of displacement, of simple  _ wrongness. _ Like an itch, but--it’s inside of him. A tickling memory. His frown deepens.  _ Why does that bother him? _

Well, he isn’t in heaven, but he isn’t in hell. Purgatory, perhaps? The notion of that sends a chill through him, and he finds that he doesn’t enjoy the idea. Why is his soul still down here?

And, for that matter: _w_ _ here is here? _

It’s dark, at first, as if he's standing in some abandoned warehouse. But as Mondo begins to focus and squint through the emptiness, color begins to condense into shapes. And those shapes...they look hauntingly familiar. When he identifies one as a spherical cage, well--

He screams. It’s a rich, full sound, too, a truly worthy scream. It comes from the darkest parts inside of him, and when Mondo releases it, he falls back on his ass and scrambles frantically away from that cage. That fucking cage.  _ No, no, no, no, no-- _

He flips onto his knees, facing away from the tool of his death, and locks his hands behind his neck as he curls into himself. “No,” he breathes out loud. “No, no--it’s over. It’s fucking over, it’s  _ over-- _ you’re dead, goddammit. You’re  _ dead! _ It’s  _ over! _ ”

God, he didn’t think it would be this  _ lonely _ in the afterlife. People die all the fucking time. When he was younger, he’d let people entertain him with the picture of a newly-dead ascending peacefully into the clouds with their deceased loved ones reaching out to greet them. It made it a lot easier to swallow reality--the reality of losing people you care about.

He wrinkles his nose. It isn’t like he had a lot of deceased loved ones. But the one...the one that  _ did _ matter to him…

“Where are you, Daiya?” Mondo mutters. And then, because just saying those words had installed a new sense of grief within him, he tilts his head back and yells it. “ _ Where are you, Daiya? _ ”

Oh, good. He’s only been awake as a ghost for about ten minutes, and he’s already crying the exact same way he did back when he was wasting the final day of his life. 

This time, though, there’s nobody around to stop him. He folds his arms against the cold ground and sobs until a puddle begins to form under his bloodless face. He cries, and cries, and cries, because god _ damn _ how is it that he  _ still _ feels this alone and scared and small and--

“Jesus Christ. Are you fuckin’ serious?”

Mondo stiffens. 

He knows that voice. 

Even if he didn’t--the fact that there  _ is _ a voice is fucking fantastic news to him. But he does know it, which makes it so much sweeter.

He pulls back into a kneeling position so fast that if he were alive, he probably would’ve passed out or some stupid shit like that. Thankfully, he’s dead, which means his vision is perfectly clear when he scans the body of the angel in front of him. 

His eyes lift from the angel's shoes to his waist, from his waist to his shoulders, and from his shoulders to a face that Mondo would’ve killed a man to see again.

Daiya grins down at him. “Haven’t changed at all, have ya?” he says. “Ya goddamn baby.”

They stare at each other for what might’ve been five heartbeats, but seeing as such a thing doesn’t exist here, Mondo just estimates it to be the time required for him to realize that it’s  _ him _ . Daiya Owada. His big brother.  _ My brother. _

A hiccup comes out of him before a sensible word does. After that, Mondo promptly launches himself off of the ground, throws his arms out, and flings them around the other man without a second thought.

Daiya catches him with a hearty laugh. The sound of it sends Mondo spiraling down a bittersweet tangent, back when life was only bicycles and bruised knees and stolen cigarettes. He squeezes Daiya tighter, partially because he’s making up for all the years he spent without him and partially because he needs to balance himself before the euphoria knocks him off his feet.

“You’re here,” Mondo chokes out after a few seconds.

Daiya’s hand spreads over his back, right between his shoulders. He massages Mondo in a way that’s reminiscent of an older sibling’s innate security. It makes the younger man shake even harder. “Yeah, I’m here,” Daiya says softly. “I’m here.”

Mondo shakes his head. He tries to say a few more things, like  _ “I’ve missed you so much” _ and  _ “I’m so sorry,” _ but it all comes out in a blubbering mess. The good thing is, the shared blood between them allows for Daiya to understand it all. He had always been able to look at the mundane parts Mondo would offer him and join them into a brilliant whole. He  _ made _ Mondo whole, and ever since the accident, Mondo had had to limp around with no way of putting himself back together. Until...until…

The name is on the tip of his tongue. But when Daiya begins to talk to him, it sinks back into the untouchable parts of his thoughts; he can’t muster up any anger, though, because his brother’s voice is like music to him. “Ya still beat yourself up every day, didn’t you?” Daiya asks him. 

Mondo leans back. He’s a little timid at first, but then he remembers that this is his brother. Daiya wouldn’t care whether he was snot-nosed or smothered in makeup. But he doesn’t like the reproachful note in his brother’s voice. “What’d’ya mean?” Mondo says defensively.

Daiya rolls his eyes. He playfully smacks Mondo’s shoulder as he explains, “Don’t play dumb, ya little shit. Didn’t you remember what I told ya, way back then? My last words to you? You gotta stay--”

“Stay strong for our men,” Mondo grumbles along with him. “‘Cause we’re a family ‘til the end.”

“You do remember!” 

Mondo can’t help but smile a little at Daiya’s praise. “Yeah. But it was cheesy as  _ shit _ . So there’s a reason I didn’t really, y’know, use it as my mantra to keep me goin’ everyday.”

Daiya sighs. He reaches out and cups Mondo’s face, and Mondo can’t help but think about the number of times Daiya had touched him this gently. It wasn’t a very high number, of course, since they had a reputation to uphold. But they  _ were  _ brothers. They were the only family either of them truly had left. One of his greatest regrets was that he used to hate the brief moments of intimacy between them, and he only realized his mistake when his brother was taken from him too quickly for Mondo to say goodbye.

He worries that Daiya might be picking up on this new thread of guilt lurking over him. His brother's steel eyes soften, proving Mondo's concerns, and gain a little more warmth. “And you  _ did  _ keep going,” Daiya agrees. “Just like I knew ya could. But, man, you weren’t never s’pposed to turn out like  _ this! _ ”

“Hey,” Mondo snaps. He may be overjoyed to see his brother again, but not  _ that _ overjoyed. “Watch it, man. I don’t--I don’t need to...remember.” Despite his temporary annoyance, his voice trails off at the end, because it just isn't true. He  _ can’t _ remember. He knows he fucked up bad, and that’s why he died, but for some reason, the details just aren’t there. It’s like he can see everything except the face of someone he’s sure he knows. It’s...frustrating.

And Daiya must be able to tell. He’s watching Mondo closely, and now he’s nodding to himself. “I know. I get it, trust me. It ain’t my place, you're right, so, whatever.”

He leans in closer, offering Mondo a smile when he notices that the younger man’s gloomy face is darkening. “Hey.  _ Hey, _ ” Daiya presses. “You did good, bro. Really. I shouldn’t be so hard on ya already. That's my bad.”

Mondo looks up at him and blurts, “I missed you, Daiya. I--I did. So fuckin’ much.” Then the rest of his words start tumbling out one after another: “And I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I left the gang, and lied to everyone about you, and left our home behind, and--and, fuck, I’m sorry for getting you-- _ killed, _ and--”

“Whoa!” Daiya covers Mondo’s mouth and starts hushing him, growing more and more insistent as Mondo’s face heats up with guilt. “None of that. Not right now. Okay? Look, I watched ya kill yourself a million fuckin’ times over the last--what’s it been, barely a goddamn day? Ya don’t gotta do that now that you’re, well. Dead. And I missed you too, duh.”

Mondo mumbles against Daiya’s hand until his brother removes it. There’s a lot he could respond to in that statement, so he chooses the one that nags him the most. “What do ya mean, you... _ watched _ me?” he repeats.

“Well, yeah. What, ya really thought I’d just let my kid brother run around like he owns the damn place?” Daiya smirks at him. “Of course I’ve been watchin’ you. Since the night I died. Couldn’t you feel me? At least a few times?”

Mondo thinks about this. He was never one to really self-reflect or self-analyze, but he supposes...yes, there were a few times where he had been alone in his room, or on his bike, that he hadn’t really felt  _ alone. _ He does recall the moments where he had gotten the acute sense that someone else was sitting there with him, with a hand on his shoulder, whispering things that he couldn’t make out even though it did something kind to his mood. “That was you?” Mondo doesn’t really mean to whisper.

Daiya nods with a huge grin. “Hell yeah, it was me. I did what I could, even if it wasn't much.” He becomes serious again and pokes Mondo’s chest with his free hand as he claps the other one on his shoulder. “I couldn’t leave you behind,” Daiya says quietly. “We men have to be there for each other. So I did it in the only way I could. And I’m sorry, too--there were so many times I shoulda been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

Mondo snorts and looks away so that Daiya won’t see the tears stinging his eyes. “Why are you sorry?” he mumbles. “I’m the one who...the one...it’s my fault, so. Was all my fault.”

“God, you really haven’t gotten any better.” Daiya steps away, releasing him, and pulls his hands down his face with a long sigh. “Sorry, that’s kinda unfair. ‘Cause you  _ have, _ but--shit, maybe I’m gettin’ ahead of myself.”

Mondo shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight. “Well, we have all the fuckin’ time in the world now, don’t we?” he points out. “And--well, I got some questions, too. Trust me, I’m really...God, you know I’m so fucking glad to see you again. You know that. But…”

“You wanna know where everyone else is,” Daiya finishes for him.

“...Yeah.”

Daiya looks unusually uncomfortable. “So, uh. I mean, I figured you’d ask, but that’s a hell of a question.”

“How?” All it takes is Daiya’s sudden hesitance for Mondo’s pulse to pick up.

His brother keeps sighing. Had he always sighed this much when they were both alive? “Okay. Well--so, you probably noticed already, but.” He waves towards Mondo’s head and says, “It’s not all there, is it? Your memories?”

Mondo touches his temple automatically. “How’d you know?” he asks, even though he knows it’s a dumb question.

Daiya folds his arms and shrugs, “It was the same for me, too. And now’s not the time to start explainin’ how everything works here, but let’s just say that sometimes, when some of us die, we...we got business that we still gotta finish. Like, the kind we shoulda finished in life, but...couldn’t.”

Mondo fights the reflexes that urge him to immediately respond with something equally as stupid as asking his ghostly sibling how he knew how a newly-dead felt. He instead considers Daiya’s explanation, and is rewarded for his efforts when he decides it makes perfect sense. “Okay,” he says eventually. “So, the ones who got that... _ business, _ or whatever, they stay behind?”  _ Whatever the fuck that means? _

Daiya looks appreciative of his understanding. “Bingo.”

“Then... _ shit, _ man.” Mondo frowns as he does the math in his head. “You’ve been in limbo for  _ years _ now.”

“In a few months, it’ll be five. But time doesn’t really have much weight when you’re dead,” Daiya assures him. “I only felt it whenever I made a point to be with you.”

Mondo almost says  _ thank you, _ but he doesn’t think his thanks is needed. And his brother was never someone who liked unnecessary praise or gratitude. So he stays quiet in that respect and continues, “Well, fuck. It’s taken ya that long to, I dunno, make amends? Is that it? I mean--do you even know what you’ve gotta do?”

“Nah. I’ve done my time,” Daiya replies. 

“Then why are you…” Mondo gestures at both of them.

Daiya combs his fingers through his hair as he figures out how to answer this newest inquiry. Mondo uses the lapse in conversation to admire how his cut still looks the exact same way it did, all those years ago, when he wore the colors of the Crazy Diamonds. And even now, he’s still robed in the elegant white that indicated the authority he never really gave up. Mondo’s heart skips--yeah, he never really did get over how proud he had always been of his brother.

“I made the choice to stick around,” Daiya answers at last. “For you. I didn’t want you to, I guess,  _ cross over _ and find yourself all alone. And  _ don’t _ give me that look,” he warns Mondo, already noticing the smug grin that falls over the younger man’s expression. “You are my stupid little brother who’s made almost as many stupid, shitty mistakes as me. You are in  _ dire _ need of some sorta guidance, dead or alive.”

“I learned all that stupid shittiness from you,” Mondo protests. “But...I appreciate it. Really. It means a fuckin’ lot.” In their cooler, more concise style of dialogue, that’s the equivalent of  _ the fact that you would do that for me is more than I’ve ever deserved. _

Daiya tilts his chin up, like he’s enjoying the power he’s just established. “So, that being said.” He points at Mondo and becomes all business. “You ain’t done here, bro, and if ya wanna leave this shithole of an academy, you’ve gotta  _ want _ to.”

Mondo blinks. “What the fuck does  _ any _ of that mean? Of course I want to.”

“Nah, you don’t,” says Daiya with a firm shake of his head. “See, I say that people like you are stuck ‘cause they’ve got unfinished business. What that  _ really _ means is that there’s still shit tyin’ you to some aspect of your real life, and it’s keeping ya tethered to wherever that  _ thing _ is strongest. You followin’?”

Mondo pretends like he is.

“Right. So, until either that  _ thing _ ceases to exist, or you get over it, you’re stuck. So if it’s a person, you either gotta wait until they die, or you gotta work out your own feelings about ‘em. Then your soul can find rest and go on.” 

Daiya stops to give him a meaningful look. Mondo doesn’t notice it until the pause becomes unsettling. “What’re ya lookin’ at me like that for?” he demands.

Daiya opens his mouth, and then seems to think better of it. “That’s right,” he says, under his breath. “I bet you don’t even remember.”

“Remember what? You know I hate that vague talk,” scowls Mondo.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. I used a person as an example because from what I’ve seen--with you, I mean--I could guess that that’s what your problem is.”

“The  _ thing, _ you mean.”

Daiya hums confirmation. “Yeah. So, sorry for not bein’ up front about that at first. I was just...I was kinda hoping you’d remember him on your own. But I guess it’s not your fault.”

“You’re doing it again,” Mondo warns. “Give me names, goddammit.”

“Fuck! Sorry.” Daiya wrings his hands and takes a deep breath. “I’m talking about Taka,” he says heavily. “Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Ring a bell?”

Oh, it rings a bell, alright. It’s a fucking nuclear siren.

Daiya has to actually lunge and grab him before his knees buckle.  _ That name.  _ Taka’s name. 

Mondo recalls the twin feelings of drinking hot chocolate on an empty stomach or ice water after chewing gum; the sensations of heat and cold draining through his body always made him shudder. Hearing Daiya say it,  _ Kiyotaka Ishimaru, _ floods him with both those sensations at once, magnified by a million.

His eyelids flutter as he gasps against the feeling. He balances himself against Daiya, who says sternly, “Steady, steady. But let it happen.”

Mondo wants to reply, but he truly has no control over his physical or mental response. It feels like some sadistic doctor is jabbing needles into his most vital muscles, with each syringe hooked up to a generator. Not a single thing that flashes through his vision is really  _ there, _ per se, but he sees them more clearly than his worried brother. 

It all comes back so fast. Too fast for him to try and unpack. Memories of the same face, the same beautiful face, all red eyes and confident grins. Bold words. Even bolder tones. Whenever that voice was used to form his name, its tone was laced with something different, something sweeter. And it happens enough times that Mondo’s actually able to notice it.

How had he forgotten?

He doesn’t  _ just  _ see Taka. Among the memories come everyone else he had left behind--Daiya, when he was alive, and Chihiro, too. But there’s also Takemichi Yukimaru, the unsung hero of the Crazy Diamonds, the closest one to Mondo’s heart prior to meeting Taka. He had always had the fiercest spirits and the hottest tempers. Even now, it’s still vaguely attractive. God, he hopes that the kid is still alive--and after seeing Monokuma’s video...no. He can’t get riled up about that now.

Because there’s more. The people he didn’t hold quite as near and dear to his heart--they’re all there. The ones he wished he could’ve spoken to more: Leon, Sakura, Junko, Sayaka. The ones he didn’t feel much about in any particular way: Hiro, Hifumi, Celeste, Aoi, Toko. And even the ones who, in some way or another, appeared in his life only as adversaries: Byakuya, Kyoko, Makoto. 

He remembers each and every one of them. What’s more, he remembers how each and every one of them reacted during his trial--well, the ones that were alive, anyway. And that’s when Mondo  _ finally _ snaps out of his trance and seizes Daiya so sharply that his brother fights against him for a second. “How long have I been dead?” Mondo demands.

Daiya stares at him in disbelief. “You just got bitch-slapped with memories and shit, and  _ that’s _ what you gotta ask?”

Mondo gives a sound of frustration and says, “I just--I--I forgot about them. Why? How did that happen?”

“You think I know? I just tell ya how it happens here, not why.”

Mondo releases his brother and stomps away from him in a frenzy. He isn’t mad at Daiya, of course, because his brother is hardly the one to blame for his bout of amnesia. It was a blessing in disguise, actually: now that everything has returned, a deep sense of helplessness is surely on its way. He can already feel it coming. He needs to get to them--to him. “I need to get to Taka.”

“Damn right, you do.”

Mondo spins on his heel. He hadn’t expected that answer. “What?”

Daiya’s smirking at him as he straightens his collar. “You’re a noble kid. Always have been, so, I was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to figure that out,” he chuckles. 

“Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know? I couldn’t even fuckin’ remember him!” As Mondo shouts this, he hears the ashamed edge in his voice. How could he have _ forgotten _ him? He remembers it, yes--he remembers what he promised. Maybe not the exact words, but Mondo knows that he had promised to remember him.

“Hey. Relax, dude.” Daiya moves towards him and smooths his hands down his arms in the way Mondo would only ever let his brother do. “It’s not your  _ fault, _ okay? Can you get that through your thick-ass head? That’s what happens to us deadbeats,” he says gently. “We forget, but it always comes back. Sometimes, y’know, it takes a little urgin’, but it  _ ain’t your _ fault. 'Kay? _ None _ of it was your fault. ”

Mondo’s hands flex in and out of white-knuckled fists. He can’t stay here. “Y-yeah, but…”

“Let me help you out a little. Yeah? We’ll work through it together.” There’s a pause, and then Daiya says, “First, tell me what you remember, if you can. Right before ya died.”

Well, that doesn’t seem so hard. “The trial. That...there’s no way I could forget that,” Mondo answers slowly. His words came confidently, which doesn't match the way his shoulders begin to shake.

But Daiya is there. He doesn’t let go of Mondo as he keeps coaching him through it. “Okay. Okay, good. And--and I know how hard it is, to remember. I mean--hell, I was there for that.” He gives a short laugh. “ _ Man _ , I gotta give it to ya. That asshole Togami, the fuck was up with him? Bitch was given’ it to ya from day fuckin’ one. You're a goddamn champ for makin' it through that shitshow for that long.”

Mondo snorts. It feels good to laugh, even if it’s brief. “Tell me about it.” 

“But keep goin’. Why don’t you, uh--” he squeezes Mondo’s biceps, as if preparing him-- “why don’t you try tellin’ me a little more about Taka?”

Mondo’s jaw tightens. He looks away, all at once unable to meet Daiya’s eyes. He’s sure that his brother knows every single thing that had transpired between them, and he had undoubtedly picked up on Mondo’s remorse when everything fell down at once. But it’s out of habit that he still does all he can to keep his insecurities as far out of Daiya’s grasp as possible. 

Daiya sighs deeply. “I know it’s uncomfortable. And--I dunno. For what it’s worth, when I was watchin’ you down there, I gave you two your privacy. I swear. I knew when to stick around and when to fuck off.”

“Well, Jesus,” Mondo huffs. At least he can still blush as a ghost. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Anyway. We gotta talk about this, though, if ya want anything to get better. You  _ gotta _ let it through, dude.”

Mondo knows that. He does. But there’s only one thing on his mind right now, and it’s all that he has the nerve to bring up. “Where is he?” Mondo murmurs. “Taka. Where is he?”

When Daiya doesn’t immediately answer, Mondo lifts his eyes from his shoes to fix them fiercely on the other man. “I’ll go to him. Right now. Isn’t that what I gotta do? That’s what you said. I need to watch him, I need--I need to  _ be _ there, goddammit! I need to protect him!”

“I know!” Daiya shouts, raising his voice above Mondo’s own agitation. He pulls Mondo’s hands away from where they had latched madly to his jacket collar. “I know. Remember? That’s how I felt about you. Maybe--well, obviously without all the lovey-dovey shit, but I get it. And I’m with ya: you  _ do _ need to get to him.”

“Then tell me where he is,” Mondo insists.

“Let me fuckin’ get to that!”

“How long have I been dead?”

“Christ, Mondo, would ya let me finish?” Daiya makes a long, loud sound and rubs his temples. “So goddamn stubborn. Totally forgot about that.”

“Oh, sure, and I bet you were so much calmer when you first died,” Mondo fires back. He cools down just as quickly as his temper flared up, though, and he tries to translate his apology through his muted expression. 

Luckily for him, Daiya rarely takes things personally. “I was definitely a little calmer than you,” he teases. “But I guess I didn’t leave behind the love of my life, right?”

“Huh?”

Daiya whistles gleefully. “Holy shit! You’re blushin’ so bad, man. That’s kinda sweet. Sad as fuck, but sweet.”

Mondo glowers at him as he tries to hide his burning face. “Just shut up,” he grumbles. “Even if he was, it doesn’t matter, does it? ‘Cause…”

“Uh-uh. Alright, don’t start crying on me again. Y’know what? Maybe it’s just best if I let you go.”

“Maybe.”

“Then let me just say this last thing. Go back to the memories you just got back.” Daiya pauses so that Mondo can do just that. “I’d wager that you still don’t got the ones from your high school years, right? Before the whole...fucked-up killin’ game.”

“You’re right,” Mondo realizes. He’s pretty confident that by now, his mental state is around the same as it had been while he was still alive. Which is to say, his memories are still completely blank when he tries to picture what had happened between the time he left his gang and the first Hope’s Peak Academy killing game assembly. 

Daiya twists his jaw, as if even though he knew it was true, the reality of it still disturbed him. “I figured,” he says. “I mean,  _ I _ know what happened, but that’s just ‘cause I was spyin’ on ya.”

“Then--tell me!”

“No can do.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Something’s tellin’ me that that’s part of why you’re still tied down,” Daiya says. “Ya want all the pieces back? Then go bust your ass back to your kyoudai and learn.”

Mondo stares at him. How is it possible that he’s making both no sense and perfect sense at the same time? “Alright. Alright, fine. I think all this is fucking stupid, though,” he complains.

Daiya tilts his head. “Do you wanna see Taka again or not?”

“...Yes.” Mondo hesitates, then adds, “Yeah, I do. More than anything.”

The smile that Daiya gives him is so proud and satisfied that Mondo almost rethinks his answer and asks if he could just stay here, with his brother, instead. Of course he can’t do that, because he could never leave Taka behind. But still. “I missed you so much,” he says again, unable to push the thought away.

“Oh, ya big old baby.” Daiya holds his arms out and Mondo walks right into them. He allows himself a few seconds of bliss as he sinks into the tight hug that feels exactly like the home he wishes he could return to.

“I missed you too,” Daiya mumbles. “I was always rootin’ for ya. Even when you killed that kid--Mondo, I never blamed you for a second. I know why ya did it, and I want you to know: you are the strongest,  _ bravest  _ god damn man I have ever witnessed in life or death. And I don’t want ya to forget that. Ever.”

Mondo pushes his nose into Daiya’s shoulder and inhales. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear those words. “You mean that?” he whispers. His brother wasn’t one to hand out praise like that lightly.

“‘Course I do. And I’ve never,  _ ever _ been so proud of someone for wanting to do the right thing as badly as you did.” Daiya pushes him away and then pats his cheek to make Mondo scowl. “Now  _ go, _ ” he says brightly. “Although, I gotta warn ya, it’s...probably not gonna be very pretty.”

“I know,” Mondo mutters.

“You’ve been dead for about six hours, now. I figure that’ll help you find what you need.”

“Okay,” says Mondo. “Thanks.” That’s a lot longer than he had thought, and it makes him more worried than he’d like to admit.

Daiya nods. It looks like he’s done talking, but then some thought seems to occur to him. Abruptly he says, “Oh, and, Mondo. I--I told myself I wouldn’t really give you my opinion on everything I saw down here with you, since I figured ya wouldn’t really want it or give a shit, but…”

Mondo waits anxiously for him to say it. “But…”

“When you gave your jacket to Taka.” 

“Yeah?” He simultaneously hates and loves the memory. Hates it because of what followed, loves it because he knows it was probably a wise choice in the end.

Daiya actually affirms the latter, saying, “Well, first of all, it was touching as hell. And secondly, I think...I think that was one of the smartest things you’ve ever done your entire life. So just--y’know, good job.”

Mondo’s hands go up to rub his bare arms. “He needed it,” he responds quietly. “I know he did. Does.”

“You won’t find him doing very well,” Daiya warns him.

He fiddles with the hem of his tanktop. “I know.”

“You sure you’re prepared for that? Because I’ll tell ya, it’s not very fun when you realize you’re kinda helpless as a ghost.”

“I know,” Mondo says again, louder this time. “I’m sure it’ll be awful and horrible and just about the worst thing ever, right? But I gotta be there for him. I mean--he could die, Daiya, and I  _ have _ to be there for him. I can’t let him go alone. I--I need to.”

Daiya smiles a little. “Well, as long as you know what to expect. Then I’ll leave ya to it.”

“You  _ will  _ still be around, right?” Mondo checks.

“‘Course I will. But I won’t come to you unless ya call for me. This whole thing?” Daiya gestures to the walls of the execution chamber, and by extension, the academy beyond it. “This is your business. Taka’s yours to figure out. And you were startin’ to do pretty well up until you got your dumbass killed.”

Mondo slugs him on the arm, and their laughter is a mix of shared indignation and relief. “Thanks for waiting for me,” Mondo says earnestly. “I probably would’ve freaked the hell out if ya didn’t.”

Daiya reaches out and scuffs his hands through Mondo’s hair, snickering when the younger man complains. “I’ll always wait for you. Now go back to Taka,” Daiya urges him. “He needs you. And he  _ will _ feel you, the same way you felt me.”

“Okay. Yeah. I will.” Mondo hesitates, and then goes in for one last hug, because dammit, he still regrets not taking advantage of more solitary moments between them when they still needed to breathe. And Daiya, who, too, may have pushed him away back then, accepts him without a trace of resentment. It makes Mondo realize how afraid he had been of rejection--that maybe Daiya would scorn him for all the mistakes that soiled his life, or for the way he found love for another man.

People really do just keep on surprising him.

“It’ll all be alright, Mondo.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I hope so.”

“It  _ will. _ ”

The embrace lasts just a bit longer, and then without warning, the warmth suddenly disappears. Mondo stumbles back in surprise.  _ Oh. _

Daiya is...gone.

“Daiya?” he breathes. He isn’t scared, or sad, now that he knows he and his brother are in the same world once again, but--he hadn’t expected it to be that abrupt.

A breeze gathers around him. It picks up the billowy fabric of his pants and sweeps over his exposed arms and chest, making him shiver and hold himself.  _ Go to Taka, _ comes the whisper in the wind. It has to be Daiya.

Mondo looks up, following the gust with his eyes. “Always.”

A few seconds later, the chamber returns to its normal state, stagnant and dank. In that instant, Mondo knows that he is truly alone. Daiya’s spirit is somewhere, in some layer of the afterlife, hopefully watching over him as always. But now...Mondo’s gaze turns to the far entrance, beyond the empty viewing area.

Now he has work to do. And it’s not gonna be fun.

He rubs his arms again. A part of him wishes that he had kept his jacket, because he can now safely assume that the clothes someone dies in are the clothes they wear in the afterlife.  _ Taka needs it more than me, _ he tells himself, knowing it to be the absolute truth. And he must go and find him.

Mondo walks over to the entrance and then pauses; feeling a bit stupid, he tentatively touches one hand to the wall. When it doesn’t phase through, he snatches it back, grumbling to himself. “I just wanted to check,” he says, just in case Daiya is watching and cackling at him.  _ So it’s the same laws as if I were alive. Good to know. _

He isn’t sure how that’ll work when he tries to get into Taka’s room, but he figures it’ll work itself out. Especially if Taka is his  _ thing, _ which he definitely is.

The mechanism to solve this exact dilemma reveals itself hardly a couple minutes after. When Mondo goes through the hall between the courtroom and the execution chamber, he realizes that he has to somehow use the elevator to get to the ground floor of the Academy. The instant he formulates his desire to get to the main hall, he becomes completely weightless. Vertigo crashes over him, but before he can even think to vomit, everything around him folds and shifts and changes.

He has no idea how he ends up on his hands and knees, gasping for breath in a completely different area. He covers his mouth so that nothing can come out, be it a ghostly meal or a little scream. “Okay,” Mondo whispers. He raises his eyes as he tries to soothe his stomach-- _ what do you know? _ He’s in the goddamn main hall. “So that’s how ya do it.”

If Daiya could’ve explained that to him, it would’ve been a hell of a lot easier.

Now that he’s back in the main living area, not much time passes before Mondo experiences the same constant cloud of dread that he had lived under during the killing game. He picks himself up and looks around, straining to hear any voices or footsteps. He glances at the clock on the overhead arch, and--

_ Oh, shit. _ It’s just an hour before nighttime. At least it’ll make it easy to find Taka, though he suspects that the man hasn’t been the most...functional, since the trial. Mondo winces.  _ Right. _

He doesn’t want to head to the dorms right away. He needs to prepare himself. He heads to the cafeteria, first, and when he arrives, he picks up on some murmuring in the kitchen. His curiosity piques, and he eagerly slips through the open door.

He isn’t surprised to find Aoi and Sakura inside; the bigger girl is heating up tea while Aoi speaks quietly to her. He  _ is _ surprised when they don’t notice him--he knew he’d be invisible to them, but it’s still unnerving.

“...bring something to him?” Aoi’s fretting. “I--I just feel really bad, you know?”

Sakura sighs heavily and folds her massive arms. “I agree. I do, as well. But I think it’s best if we give everyone their space until tomorrow, at least. I imagine that no one has the stomach to talk to someone else before they’ve slept the horror off.”

Mondo walks over to the counter and leans against it as he listens to them talk. He feels incredibly intrusive, though there’s nothing indicating that this is a particularly private conversation. Still, he remains as quiet as possible.

“I know, I know. But, Sakura, I can’t...I can’t stop thinking about the way he reacted during the trial. He was so-- _distressed_. Like, I've never seen him like that before," Aoi frowns. 

Mondo freezes. Are they talking about Taka?

“Me neither. It was...extremely hard to watch.”

“That’s why I want to do  _ something, _ ” Aoi says. She stands on her tiptoes as she reaches into one of the overhead cabinets, searching for a mug. “He hasn’t left his room since we got back.”

Sakura reaches out for her and kindly rubs her shoulder. “And don’t you think that maybe, that might mean he isn’t looking for company quite yet? The execution was--very extreme. It was hard enough for you and I to witness it, so, would it not make sense to assume that he’s still deep in his own shock?”

Aoi hesitates and looks up at her. “I guess so,” she agrees, though she still looks uncomfortable with the decision.

_ “Are you fucking serious?” _ The moment Mondo says it, he claps a hand over his mouth in horror. 

Of course, neither girl had noticed. Since he’s dead.  _ “Right,” _ he grunts. Probably for the best if they don’t hear how pissed he is at their refusal to do more for Taka--though Sakura does have a point. He supposes that if he had been in Taka’s shoes, the last thing he would want is someone showing up at his door, pretending like everything’s alright.

“I’ll take your mug,” Sakura says. Aoi hands it over, and as Sakura fills it carefully with tea, she continues, “You have a warm heart, Aoi. I’d regret it if it ever cooled. Eventually, I promise, we will all be there to comfort him. But for the time being, I believe it’s best to let people grieve. Owada and Ishimaru...they appeared to be far closer than any of us had expected.”

A sharp pain stabs into Mondo’s side. They can’t even begin to guess.

Aoi takes the tea from Sakura and blows on it absently as she mulls over this last bit of information. “For real. It’s...really, really sad. It’s so--messed up, that they’d do this!” she exclaims in that silly yet admirable way Mondo had just started to appreciate about her. “The Mastermind has no right to treat us like this! We’re just--we’re just kids…!”

Sakura makes a cooing sound and embraces Aoi as the swimmer leans into her and sniffles. “It’ll all be alright, Hina,” she murmurs, stroking the girl’s hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You have my word.”

With this, Mondo decides that the part of the discussion that he’s permitted to watch is over, and it’s time to give them their privacy.  _ “You gotta protect her, Sakura,” _ he says helplessly. Both of them are good girls; neither of them deserve Mondo or Taka’s fates. Hopefully they’ll learn from his example.

He leaves the kitchen then. He wonders whether he should visit the bathhouse and sauna or not; since Taka surely won’t be there, and there’s really no one else he’s interested in eavesdropping on, he decides against it. He could visit the second floor, but the library is up there, and he’s pretty sure that he might lose it if he sees Byakuya.  _ Guess I should go to the dorms, then. _

Taka’s room is the closest one to the main hall. For a moment, Mondo wants to go all the way around the other side to stall his visit. But as he’s debating this, Kyoko suddenly emerges from her room with an air of abnormal determination. As such, she moves much faster than Mondo can react, and before the biker can clear out of her way, she walks straight through him. 

It’s just as unpleasant as Mondo had expected. He staggers back and wheezes: it had felt like someone had smacked him hard in the chest and stomach. Chills break out all over him and induce a terrible cold for about ten seconds. He turns to watch her receding form; she doesn’t seem to have noticed anything. Thanks to what Daiya said, he had thought that Kyoko of all people would’ve at least sensed his presence. But perhaps she’s too focused on whatever clandestine task she’s set for herself to have felt anything out of the ordinary.

_ “Damn you, Kirigiri,” _ he can’t help but grumble. She had done him a favor in asserting his redemptive side at the end of the trial, but he’ll forever associate the girl with the final verdict. After all, she’s the one who fooled him into exposing his own involvement.

He’s waited long enough. He needs to face Taka. It should be easy, since the other man won’t be able to see him. But it has the reverse effect on him--how will Mondo be able to bear it, knowing that he won’t be able to tell Taka that he’s still around? 

He only has one way to find out.

Mondo shuffles up to Taka’s door and exhales slowly. He remembers being here last night. He’s just as nervous as he had been then, but now, it’s for an entirely different reason. He puts his hand on the wood and braces himself. He imagines that he’s standing on the other side of the door.

There’s the twist, the falling sensation, and then...he’s there.

It’s completely dark, so he doesn’t see anything at first. But he knows where everything should be, and his body gravitates towards the bed.  _ “Taka?” _ he whispers. 

He has to strain to both see and hear. He thinks it’s silent, that maybe Taka isn’t awake, but no--in the thick of the darkness, there’s a constant, nearly inaudible noise. It sounds an awful lot like the feeble whimpers of someone fresh out of a breakdown. No. It was too much to hope Taka was asleep.

Mondo walks over to the side of the bed. As he gets closer, shapes begin to form, just as it had back in the execution chamber. He can just make out the bed, the wrinkled sheets pulled haphazardly underneath the body on top of it. And that body--Mondo swallows hard.  _ “Shit. Taka.” _

The prefect’s curled into the saddest fetal position Mondo’s ever seen. He’s got an arm and a leg thrown over the same pillow Mondo had cried into (see? He was right about that fact, that it wouldn’t matter in the end), and he’s just about wringing the life out of it as he shivers and coughs.  _ “Oh my God,” _ Mondo mumbles. He drops to his knees. His hands quiver as they stretch out towards Taka’s tear-streaked face; the man's eyes are sealed shut.  _ “I’m so sorry. Oh my God, Taka--I can’t...you…” _

His eyes pull over Taka’s form. He notices that there’s something dark covering him, and it’s not a blanket.  _ “My jacket,” _ the biker realizes. He reaches out and lightly strokes Taka’s shuddering abdomen. Here is undeniable proof that he did need it, the Crazy Diamonds coat. He probably hasn’t taken it off.  _ At least Monokuma let him keep it. _

Mondo's found himself in this same hazy, crippled state between consciousness and blackness on a multitude of occasions, but this is the first time he’s ever seen someone else stricken by it. It’s almost too much to watch. And now that he’s really staring at him, Mondo can tell that Taka’s lips are moving as though he were speaking.  _ “What?” _ Mondo says automatically. Maybe Taka’s trying to get to him.

_ Jesus Christ, _ he thinks when he leans closer. He had hardly moved a few inches, and it’s already ten degrees hotter. Taka’s burning up. A fever? Or has he been roasting in this position for hours? If Mondo still had a physical heart, he’s sure that it would’ve shattered into pieces a thousand times by now. 

He can’t take it anymore.  _ “I’m right here, Taka,” _ he cries out.  _ “Fuck, why--why can’t you see me?” _ He knows the answer, but he demands it anyway. It’s just so unfair, all of this. He touches Taka’s face and cries harder when he notices that he can feel the salt dried to his cheek, but can’t do a damn thing about cleaning it off.

The breath that rattles in Taka’s open mouth startles him.  _ “Taka?” _ he whispers.

The prefect is groaning something. It’s just barely there. 

“M...Mondo…”

Mondo’s stomach flips. He gets in even closer, foolishly excited by Taka’s utterance, and insists,  _ “Yes! Yes, Taka,  _ please, _ can you tell? Taka--Taka, I’m right here--!” _

Taka doesn’t even stir. “Mondo,” he whimpers again. “I...I need you, Mondo…”

Mondo’s face falls against the mattress. It doesn’t make a dent.  _ He can’t feel me. He can’t even tell. “I’m right here, dammit! Please! I’m still here!” _ His arms are thrown over Taka in some protective gesture, even though he knows the worst damage has already been done. It’s the kind of internal injury that's impossible to not notice. He may have missed the worst of it, but there isn’t a doubt in Mondo's mind that something vital inside of Taka has broken for good. 

_ “I’m sorry. Taka, I could apologize a thousand times, and you’d have no idea.” _ A sharp sound accompanies his words; he supposes it could’ve been a laugh.  _ “I don’t even know what to fuckin’ say to ya. Not like you’d even hear it. But I--I wonder,  _ did _ you know? How much I hate myself for killin’ you like this?” _

Maybe, in a cruel way, this is a good thing. Now that there’s no risk of a negative reaction--at least, no more negative than the state Taka is already in--Mondo can finally spill his guts the way he wanted to all this time. He strokes Taka’s face, tries to push the sweaty hair back from his forehead. The contact doesn’t feel like when Kyoko had walked through him: where her body had been cold, Taka’s is fire. It burns under Mondo’s shimmering skin, and it feels remarkably similar to touching the man in real life. He could almost pretend that he really is right here, kneeling at Taka’s side, if not for the way his kyoudai does not react to anything.

_ “You’re so beautiful. You are. Even like this, I still look at’cha, and I think, shit. How could I have been so stupid to fuck up what I had with you?” _

Mondo rests his head on the bed and looks up at him sadly. Taka’s eyes have relaxed and lost a little bit of the pressure holding them shut. He’s probably beginning to slip into one of the worst nights of his life.  _ “I won’t leave you when you do,” _ Mondo tells him fiercely.  _ “I’m not lettin’ ya wake up alone. I swear, Taka, I’ll make ya realize that I’m right fuckin’ here. Because I love you. Even in death. I love you more than anything.” _

There are tears dropping down his own face. They’ll never make it all the way to the mattress.  _ “You deserve so much better than this. I never deserved you. Hell, I--I never thought that anyone would-- _ react _ like this, to me.” _ He looks down at the way Taka is still choking the pillow between his arms and legs.  _ “I hurt you,” _ Mondo murmurs,  _ “so fucking bad. And that wasn't supposed to happen--I’ll never forgive myself. Never.” _

There’s a good chance that he already paid the price for what he’s inflicted on Taka, back on that bike. He’d argue that it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for this, though, so maybe--maybe the second phase of his punishment is being forced to stay here. Completely powerless to do anything but allow his kyoudai to mourn him. If he looks at it that way, it almost makes it easier to stomach the fact that Taka will never, ever recover.

_ “But you should,” _ says the biker.  _ “I’m not worth it, you know. No one on this goddamn planet is worth all of...this.” _ His hands never leave Taka’s feverish skin; now that he thinks about it, the prefect has started breathing a little more calmly since Mondo arrived. Hope soars in Mondo’s chest. Even if there’s no way Taka could be fully conscious of it now, there’s a chance that something inside of him took notice of the ghost resting on his bed. 

_ “Please try to sleep. Maybe--maybe you’ll see me in your dreams, y’know? And when you wake up, I’ll be here.” _ Mondo stretches his head out and plants a kiss against Taka’s forehead. Is it just him, or does his kyoudai sigh? 

_ “I won’t ever leave you again.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i wasn't about to write taka's reaction immediately after the trial because that's a hell of a lot of angsty screaming and crying and throwing up that i just did not want to torture myself or you guys with
> 
> anyway stay tuned! unless things turn out weird, the next part SHOULD be the last part. (but things always turn out weird...might need another interlude)
> 
> UPDATE 1/29: I am going to take a brief hiatus from writing to watch DR3 (i.e. the despair/future anime arcs). thus, there will be a longer wait for the final part than i initially thought! it will be done, and i won't give up on this fic, but i'm a little pooped lately with senioritis kicking in and i don't wanna give you guys a half-assed final chapter. feel free to reach out to me in the comments!
> 
> UPDATE 2/5: still on hiatus until further notice, but haven't forgotten <3


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